


Filled with Eidolons Only

by aveari



Series: Eidolons [1]
Category: The Infernal Devices Series - Cassandra Clare
Genre: Canon Compliant, Multi, Some Canon-Typical Violence, Warlocks' daemons don't settle, Will/Jem/Tessa poly relationship, basically this follows canon, but with daemons, daemon AU, ever want to read tid but with daemons and also less dancing around herongraystairs?, in case the ship tags didn't make that clear, this is the fic for you!
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-01-11
Updated: 2018-02-11
Packaged: 2019-03-03 13:56:52
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 20
Words: 57,014
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13342668
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/aveari/pseuds/aveari
Summary: She was Tessa Gray, for as long as she had Chalivan. For all of her fluctuating forms, he remained a constant, a golden bird to tell her who she was, no matter who she looked like or whose voice spoke through her.The dead had no daemons.An Infernal Devices, canon compliant daemon AU. Title and chapter titles from Eidolons by Walt Whitman.





	1. Ever the Dim Beginning

 

Tessa was warm.

 

Not so warm that she was _comfortable_ , per se - that would have made her instantly suspicious. But warm enough that she could almost pretend she was home. Perhaps she was ill, and she’d been allowed to remain in bed, and any minute now there would be soup, or maternal scolding from her aunt.  

 

She didn’t want to get up and shatter the illusion - even her thin blanket was more comfortable than she was used to. Chali was dozing beside her, his golden breast rising and falling. A chill breeze rattled through the window, but that was a welcome change from the oppressive, damp clamminess of the other rooms in which she spent her time.

 

But she knew what her aunt would say about people who spent their time dreaming instead of facing the facts. She didn’t even have to imagine it - she’d heard it often enough, directed at her dreamer of a brother or at herself.

 

_Don’t think about that, Tessa. Nate’s fine. They said Nate was fine._

 

She glanced around the small bedroom. One bed. One drafty window. Two worn books on its sill. One vanity, upon which a tiny metal cage was chained.

 

Soon, Miranda would be in to bring her downstairs, out of her little sanctuary. She would face her captors, as she did every day, and she would obey them, as she did every day, and then she would return to her room and plot her escape. Or… something of the sort.

 

It was getting harder and harder for Tessa to keep up her escape plans. None of them had ended well for her, but the other option was giving up, and she would not bear that.

 

Chalivan, awake now, fluttered to her shoulder as she sat up. “We’ll be all right,” he said, quiet, and she nodded.

  
  
A knock on the door sounded. Miranda, the maid, was standing outside. With, Tessa knew without having to look, the same blank expression on her face. The same clothes, the same words, the same _day_ over and over again.

  
  
Chali ruffled his feathers. For all the times they’d seen her, neither girl nor goldfinch had been able to find Miranda’s daemon.

Perhaps she didn’t have one.

Perhaps she was like the Sisters, whose daemons were - _don’t think about that, Tessa._

 

“You must come with me now, miss.” Even the maid’s voice was slow, uninflected. Familiar. Dead-sounding.

 

“A minute, please.” Her voice shook, but she steadied it through force of will. “I’ll be out quite quickly.”

 

Theresa Gray climbed out of bed, donned her worn black dress, clenched her fists, and promised herself - as she had for nineteen days before - that today would be her last day in the Dark House. Today she would run, and unlike all the days before, today she would succeed.

 

 

 

* * *

 

 

Consciousness returned slowly.

 

When she came to, she was back in her bed - but this time, the Sisters were leaning over her. Mrs. Black was grinning a sick grin that twisted the flesh around her jaw.

 

“What have we learned, little girl?” She asked, her doughy face swimming in Tessa’s vision. Tessa kept her mouth shut, trying to sit up. No luck. She was tied tightly down, Chali caged on the vanity beside her. He flapped angrily at the bars, looking at their captors with undisguised fury. “We took you in out of the goodness of our hearts! We trained you! We brought you out of unformed clay and made you ready for the Magister, and this is how you repay us?”

 

Her sister was silent, watchful. Mrs. Dark’s daemon - a small lizard - perched on the brim of her ludicrous, brightly colored hat. As if he - it? - sensed her eyes on it, it _changed_ , into an equally bright, poison-colored frog. Then it was a mouse. A snake. Form after form, circling her hat like a twisted carousel of different animals, though her set expression never changed, never seemed to merit the endless indecision.

 

Tessa felt a familiar curl of _wrongness_ in her stomach, though it had lessened greatly since the first time she’d seen them. Adults weren’t supposed to have unsettled daemons. Chali hadn’t left goldfinch form in years, and she didn’t expect him to - and these women were -

 

Her thought scattered. Mrs. Black’s daemon had puffed into a copy of Chali. A near-perfect copy, save for the beadiness in its eyes. She flinched away, helplessly, the feeling of sick wrongness intensifying.

 

 _“If you run away again, we’ll flay you until your skin peels off,”_ the daemon crooned. _“Now. Change for us."_

 

Tessa closed her eyes, pretended she was somewhere, anywhere else, and reached inside herself for someone else’s mind. Pulled their skin, their _being_ , over her own, until someone else’s eyes flew open to see the Sisters, smiling and proud.

 

 

* * *

 

 

They didn’t leave until she was beyond exhausted, headache pounding behind her eyes, wrists chafed from the ropes binding her in place, skin prickling from taking on so many forms so quickly. That wouldn’t have been so bad, she thought, but their voices seemed to echo in her head - whispering, afraid, telling her what it was like to die. Telling her stories of lives that weren’t her own, loves she didn’t feel, battles she didn’t care about.

 

She would not cry. She would _not._ And she would not be sold to this ‘Magister’ for her skill, either. She didn’t care what the Sisters did to her, she would not bow her head and silently accept it.

The conviction that used to accompany those thoughts had been replaced with a bone-deep weariness. But she still thought them, out of habit.

 

 _I’m sorry, Nate,_ she thought, though she had the creeping suspicion her brother was beyond her reach now. _I endured it this long for you, because I didn’t want them to hurt you. But I fear they already have, and they plan for me to meet the same fate._

_Where are you?_

 

God! What use was being able to look like someone else? If only her useless ‘talent’ was something that could break through ropes, or kill her tormentors with a single look, or shrink down to the size of a bird, or -

 

Perhaps she _could_ shrink down to the size of a bird.

 

It was difficult, to force yet another Change in so short a time, but she managed it. And this one, the little girl who had been stabbed under a streetlight a month before, was a familiar skin. A familiar mind.

 

Tessa didn’t want to bear the thought that any of this could be growing familiar. But bear it she must, for her wrists and ankles were suddenly tiny, her hair wispy, her dress hanging off her frame. Blood - so much blood - welled up from her chest as she wrenched her arms free.

 

 _It hurts,_ said a voice in her mind, quiet and shy.  

 

 _Not now, Emma._ Tessa didn’t want to brush her off, but - was this even Emma Bayliss? Or was it just an echo, a leftover voice? A strong echo, an echo that told Tessa things she had no way of knowing, but was this really a _person,_ the mind of a being who was dead now? And if it was, was Tessa really herself anymore? Which mind was the real one, which body?

 

“Tessa,” said Chali’s quiet voice. It shocked her out of her panicked thoughts. Of course. She was Tessa Gray, for as long as she had Chalivan. For all of her fluctuating forms, he remained a constant, a golden bird to tell her who she was, no matter who she looked like or whose voice spoke through her.

 

The dead had no daemons.

 

She took a deep breath and stood up. After so much time, she didn’t need to adjust to the weight of a new body. Now, she simply let go of her borrowed skin, sighing, and rubbed the feeling back into her limbs.

 

Chali chirped in contentment. Tessa took comfort in it for a moment, crossing over to run her finger through the space between the bars. “We’ll be out of here soon,” she murmured, pulling at the lock on the cage. It was small, barely large enough to hold the finch at all, and affixed to the small vanity. It was not the first time the Sisters had locked him away, in some bid to keep her in place.

 

It worked, of course - no one could withstand being far from their daemon for long - but they couldn’t keep him confined and also bring her to their parlor for their twisted “lessons”, so it wasn’t a common punishment.

 

The bars were too thick to bend apart. Perhaps a hairpin? She’d read plenty of novels in which heroines picked locks with their hairpins, but they’d been particularly unhelpful in describing _how_. And anyway, she didn’t have any of her possessions. Only her rough black dress, currently stained with someone else’s blood.

 

Now, Tessa fiddled with the lock for some time, growing increasingly agitated as Chalivan grew more and more panicked, hopping in his confines.

“Let me out.”

 

“I’m trying, Chali, I’m trying!”

 

“Let me _out_.”

 

Frustrated tears burned at her eyes - _I will NOT cry_ \- as she rattled the lock again, looking around frantically for something to pry it off with. The rattling continued as she turned her back on the cage.

 

Odd. It took her exhausted mind far, far too long to realize - it wasn’t the cage. The lock on her door was being forced.

 

She seized up the vase from the vanity. She was out of her bonds now, there was no going back if the Sisters came in and found her like this. She’d have to do her best to fight her way past them, though that had never once worked. And why would they even need to force the lock? They had the keys to every room in this horrible house, and came and went as they pleased.

 

She didn’t have time to think about it much more, because someone cursed in a startlingly deep voice, and then the door crashed open. Tessa swung the vase with all her strength, but the intruder, still just a dark-haired figure to her eyes, was faster. They ducked out of the way of the pottery, which would have undoubtedly shattered on their head, and she only caught the edge of their arm with it.

 

The vase still shattered, crockery raining onto the floor. Her visitor yelled in pain, stepping back, and Tessa threw herself between them and Chali’s cage.

 

“Oh, for fuck’s sake - you _cut_ me!” Betrayal was evident in the tone. She didn’t dignify it with an answer.

 

The voice belonged to a boy - more of a young man, really. He was pretty enough to look at, all black hair and blue eyes, which would have impressed her more if he wasn’t most likely there to torture her, or carry her off, or perhaps he _was_ the mysterious Magister? None of it boded well for her, but it had been weeks since she’d seen anyone besides the Sisters and Miranda, so she tried, quickly, to memorize his appearance.

 

He wore odd clothes, she noticed, like workman’s clothes but made of a tough black material, with no jacket or hat. He was perhaps an inch or two taller than she was, but Tessa was quite tall to begin with. His daemon was a pretty Siamese cat, standing at his feet. In fact, both of them gave off the impression of a beautiful thing that would hurt you to touch, at least, as much as the man _could_ give off such an impression while waving his bloodied hand around.

 

“Are you the Magister?” She asked, frantic.

 

The intruder had calmed down and was watching blood drip onto the floor. “Massive blood loss,” he remarked in a pleasantly detached tone. “Death could be imminent.”

 

“ _Are you the Magister?_ ”

 

“That means ‘master’ in Latin, doesn’t it?” The cat jumped onto the vanity and blinked slowly at Chali. Chali puffed himself up in anger and fear, but neither moved. The man went on. “I’ve mastered many things in my life. Let’s see, navigating the streets of London, dancing the quadrille, lying at charades. Concealing a highly intoxicated state. But no one’s ever called me a Magister, more’s the pity.” He fixed her with a look of mild indifference. “What’s your name, then?”

 

“ _My_ name?”

 

“Yes, don’t you know it?”

 

“You - what on earth’s _your_ name?” Tessa was beginning to feel as if she had passed out under the Sisters’ lessons after all, and was having a particularly bizarre dream.

 

“William Herondale,” he said with the same vague detachedness. “Will, preferably. And that’s Issalinde. Is this your room? Not very nice, is it?”

 

The cat, Issalinde, had stopped staring at Chali and returned to Will, gesturing with her chin to the cage. Will sighed as if greatly put-upon, and walked around Tessa to get to it, pulling an odd, crystal-colored pencil-like object from one of his pockets.

 

“Leave him alone,” she said, not proud of the note of panic in her voice.

 

“If I did that, we’d never get out of here, would we?” He picked up the lock and began scrawling on it. To her surprise, black inky lines seemed to flow from the object, wrapping themselves around the lock. It took a moment, but the bolt shattered, as Tessa gasped.

 

Chali flew free in a burst of motion, and she pulled him to her chest, feeling him shaking. So William Herondale was magical as well. She hardly had the room to judge him, but it didn’t bode well for her if she was rescued, only to find herself in a the same situation as before. A prisoner of another magician.

 

At least the daemon Issalinde hadn’t changed form. Perhaps he would be a better captor than the Sisters, or easier to escape from. He certainly seemed madder than they.

 

“Now then, miss…” he looked at her expectantly, and she took a deep breath.

 

“Gray. Theresa Gray, and this is Chalivan.”

 

“Now then, Miss Gray, I have things to attend to. So unless you’d rather stay here…”

 

A crash echoed from downstairs. Tessa shook her head.

 

“That’s what I thought.”

 

He grabbed her roughly by the wrist, and then they were running.

 


	2. Of the Form Thou Art

_“_ _Miss Graaaay!”_

 

Tessa flinched as they rounded another corner. They’d been traveling deeper and deeper into the house’s corridors, and surely they were below ground now, but Will showed no signs of stopping. Mrs. Dark’s high, fluting voice had been calling out after them, but perhaps in this labyrinth of a cellar, even the Sisters were lost.

 

Heat and still, oppressive humidity billowed around them as they ran, making it hard to breathe. Chali fluttered over her shoulder, and Will cast a glance at him as they made another left.

 

“I don’t suppose he’s a canary, is he? That at least might be of some use, if he falls down dead.”

 

Tessa gave Will a sharp look. Jokes like that were in poor taste at best, and while _polite_ wasn’t the first word she’d use to describe this man, she couldn’t help a shock of startled irritation. People didn’t _say_ things like that. Instead of replying, she changed the subject.

 

“Mr. Herondale. My brother didn’t send you, did he?”

 

“Never heard of your brother.” The eerie calls of the sisters had grown fainter, and Will seemed to notice her shortness of breath, as he slowed the pace slightly. “Never heard of you, either. I’ve been following the trail of a dead girl for something like two months - someone stabbed her and left her in an alley to bleed to death. She’d been running from something.” The air seemed to grow stiller yet. “There was a dagger. Two snakes, swallowing each other’s tails. Sign of the Dark Sisters. Any of this sound familiar?”

 

It did, actually, and she whirled to a stop. “Emma Bayliss,” she said. “Her name was Emma Bayliss.” The girl whose blood was still drying on her chest.

 

“Was it?”

 

“They wanted me to tell them about her -” she shuddered. “ Will, they. Their daemons. They can change.”

 

Will tilted his head to the side, as did Issalinde. It was almost comical, had the situation not been so dire. “Of course they change. They’re warlocks, that’s what they do. What are you, then? I thought you were one, too. Or a mundane, I suppose, but they wouldn’t be making all this fuss over you if you were.”

 

“Me? I’m - I’m nothing. I’m not a magician, or a… warlock, or -”

 

“There are no magicians. People who use magic are warlocks.”

 

“I’m… I’m not one. I’m from New York.” This was an odd thing to say even by her standards, but her head was starting to spin.

 

“ _Miss Graaaay. Oh, where are you?”_

 

The conversation was dropped. Will seized her wrist again, and they ran, the voice of Mrs. Dark trickling around them like smoke.

 

It wasn’t long before they reached the end of the labyrinth - or, what she desperately hoped was its end. A pair of high steel doors barred the corridor, and Will didn’t even break stride as he forced them open, shoved her through them, and reached around to slide the deadbolt home. Panting, she leaned against the other side, trying to force the heavy air into her lungs.

 

The room was dark. Will was fumbling in his pockets nearby, suddenly producing an odd, clear stone. Light flickered weakly within it. He held it up between his fingers, illuminating an odd dark design on the back of his hand, like the lines that had opened the lock, but this one seemed to bear the image of an open eye. Tessa stared at it unashamedly, wondering - was it a tattoo? Was it paint?

 

Then he tossed the stone to Issalinde, who caught it in her mouth, and the light flared up, illuminating the room. Thoughts of odd inklike markings flew her mind.

 

They were in a cell. Stone walls, stone floor, and one, high window. No doors save the ones they had come through. But that wasn't what caught her attention - the place was a slaughterhouse.

 

Two long wooden tables ran the length of the room, each piled high with bodies. Human bodies, chest cavities carved open. On one, there were also brass cogs, gears, and great spools of wire - all bloodstained, all rusted.

 

Chali flew to her shoulder and shivered there. Will looked unbothered as ever, but Issalinde’s fur bristled and her eyes narrowed.

 

They didn’t have time to take in their surroundings for long. A loud crash echoed through the room, and a rough laugh sounded from behind the door.

 

“Miss Gray! Come out now, and we won’t hurt you.”

 

“They’re lying,” Tessa said immediately.

 

“No, do you really think so?” Will gave her a sarcastic, blue-eyed stare. The doors rattled again as he snatched up a heavy cog from the pile of bloody machinery and threw it, hard, into the air. It shattered the window with a chime of breaking glass, and he raised his voice. “Henry! Henry, some assistance, please!”

 

“Who’s Henry?”

 

“Stop asking questions!”

 

The doors shook again, and Tessa, seeing the wisdom in that, snatched up a bloodied saw from the table. She would not be taken back with these horrible women, to be gifted to someone she’d never heard of. She’d die first.

 

Chali puffed himself up on her shoulder, glaring at the doors, as her sweaty hands slipped on the saw. Then they crashed open, and she faced her captors again.

 

Mrs. Dark, thin and iridescent in her green gown, her daemon suddenly larger than Tessa had ever seen it. It was reptilian and snarling, laying close to the ground on four legs but still longer than Tessa was tall. Mrs. Black, in her bright hat, seemingly surrounded by a halo of blue sparks, with her daemon something hazy and snarling.

 

“Little Miss Gray,” Mrs. Black crooned. “We told you what would happen if you ran again.”

 

Tessa brandished her saw. “Then do it!” she shouted, and saw with satisfaction a look of surprise on the Sisters’ faces. “Whip me bloody, kill me, I don’t care! I’d rather die.”

 

Mrs. Black smiled a fixed grin. “What a sharp tongue you have. Perhaps if we cut it out, you’d learn to mind your manners.”

 

She stepped forward, but before she could get anywhere, Will had thrown himself between them. He held a blade that looked to be made of glass, and Issalinde’s claws were out.

 

“Get out of my way, little boy angel,” said Mrs. Black. “And take that toy with you. This isn’t your battle.”

 

Will did not move. For a moment, everyone was still, frozen in place.

 

Then the wall of the cell came crashing down.

 

One moment it was there, the next it wasn’t. It fell from the top downwards, as though someone at ground level had suddenly discharged dynamite. Plaster and chunks of stone flew everywhere, and Will pushed her out of the way as she struggled to see through the dust, fighting his grip. He looked irritated, but let her go without another word, turning to two other figures in dark clothes, who too were brandishing shining weapons.

 

Will grinned an unpleasant sort of grin and threw himself towards the Sisters.

 

It was chaos. The three figures fought faster than Tessa could watch, and she didn’t care to. The moment Will let her go, she was moving towards the open door that led to the corridor. If she could only get out, get above ground, get to freedom -

 

Strong hands seized her and drew her backwards. She shrieked, twisted, and sunk her teeth into her assailant’s palm as Chali screamed, and then she was free again as a man with a wild nest of ginger hair stared at her with reproach.

 

“Will! She bit me!”

 

“Did she, Henry?” Will seemed contented as usual. “It’s bad form to bite,” he added in her direction. “Rude, you know.”

 

“It’s also rude to go about _grabbing_ at people!”

 

They didn’t have time to stand and argue the point. Their third companion - a brown-haired man bearing two of the glass blades - was engaging Mrs. Black. She had a sword protruding from her chest, around which black flames licked, and Tessa’s mind tried to take in what she was seeing and failed.

 

“Damn,” said Will. “I thought we put that thing down.” He turned to Henry. “You might want to remove Miss Gray. _Soon_ , I think -”

 

Before Henry could act on any such idea, a black flame ricocheted off of the glass blade he held. It sheared off in another direction, striking Tessa in the shoulder, and the last thing she remembered was flying backwards until her head hit the wall.

  


* * *

 

 

Tessa dreamed. She dreamed of monsters, daemon-less creatures with no eyes and stitched-shut mouths leaning over her. She dreamed of the Sisters, stroking her hair with taloned hands as she fought to get away. She dreamed of her aunt, murmuring - _“I tried to love you. But you can’t love a child that’s not human in the least.”_

 

 _“Not human?”_ Said an unfamiliar voice. _“Then what is she? Everyone’s something. She cannot be nothing at all…"_

 

She awoke in the darkness, confused, lost, feeling for Chali’s comforting presence. He was nearby, but she didn’t have time to look for him - the moment she opened her eyes, a face hovered in the shadows in front of her. The face of her nightmare, eyeless and pale, lips banded with black stitches, face scrawled with more of the inklike markings.

 

She screamed, scrambling back until she fell from the bed and hit the stone floor.

 

“Miss Gray.” The voice was unfamiliar. Not the monster - that was still watching her from where it stood by her bed, its face impassive. It showed no signs of moving, but she backed away, slowly reaching for a door behind her.

 

“Miss Gray!” There were windows on the wall, churchlike windows that were arched, letting in some scarce moonlight. She fumbled behind her desperately, only to feel Chali’s warm nose nudging her towards a handle. Thank God. She turned it, but it wouldn’t open -

 

“Theresa Gray!”

 

The room was full of light. “Miss Gray, I am sorry. We didn’t mean to frighten you.” The voice was a woman’s, and Tessa turned, slowly. “Miss Gray, please.”

 

She was in a room. A relatively large one, though its floor was undecorated and most of the space was taken up by the bed she had scrambled out of. A screen in the corner hid what was likely a washstand, and two chairs were set beside her bed.

 

The monster still stood, silent. Watching. His robes covered his face, and he had no daemon to be seen. Tessa shuddered. She should not flinch, after all she'd seen, but the idea of someone  _without_ a daemon... she didn't like to imagine it. 

 

Beside him stood a very small woman, with a clever face and thick brown hair tied at her neck. The same inky marks swirled around her skin. A small, contained-looking dog daemon with sharp black eyes - Tessa wracked her brains for a moment before remembering that it was called a border terrier - sat at her side.

 

“Miss Gray,” she said again. “I am Charlotte Branwell. Head of the London Institute. This is Brother Enoch -”

 

“What kind of monster is he?” Tessa whispered. Brother Enoch said nothing. Tessa shook her head. “Will - Will was with me. Where is Mr. Herondale?”

 

“He’s here,” said Charlotte, calm. “In the Institute.”

 

“Did he bring me here?” Something was prickling at the back of Tessa’s mind. Something that felt _different_ , _off._ Not quite wrong, but definitely not right _._ But she didn’t have time to think about it now.

 

“You were injured, and he was concerned about you. There is no need to look so betrayed. Brother Enoch examined you and healed your head injury, though you may still be suffering from shock. In fact, I think you should sit down now. Hovering there by the door will give you a chill and do you no good.”

 

“You mean, so I can’t run. I can’t get away.” She _knew_ that going with Will would only lead her to another imprisonment.

 

“If you demand to get away, after we have talked, I will let you go,” said Charlotte Branwell. “Nephilim don’t trap downworlders under duress.”

 

“Downworlders?”

 

At that, the monster spoke. Or… perhaps not spoke. His voice echoed in Tessa’s head, like those of the people she Changed into. _You are Eidolon, Theresa Gray. Warlock, Shape-Changer. But not of any kind I have seen before. There is nothing of the mark of Lilith upon you._

 

Shape-changer. She stared at him, as he turned and left the room, seeming not to make a sound. She sank down onto the edge of the bed in silence.

 

“You are upset,” said Charlotte. Tessa didn’t dignify that with a response. “Miss Gray, this is what I know about you. You are from America. You came here from New York City, following your brother, who had sent you a ticket. Will then found you in the Dark Sisters’ house, with no sign of your brother, Nathaniel.”

 

Tessa nodded, weakly.

 

Charlotte spoke on, but the feeling of something strange remained. Charlotte would not force her to use her power, but if Tessa knew anything about the Dark Sisters that she could tell the Institute, she could stay there until her brother was found. They could even help look for her brother, between investigating the murders the Dark Sisters had committed. Her voice ran together, as if this river of information was anything Tessa had a choice in. She wanted to laugh.

 

“I don’t want charity,” said Tessa, stubborn out of habit. She knew she would be forced into staying. “And I will not use my power.”

 

“It would not be. We are meant to help Downworlders. And perhaps you could benefit from learning how to use, how to control it -”

 

“ _No!_ ”

 

Charlotte merely nodded. “Then perhaps not. In any case, Jessamine has clothes to spare for you. Perhaps you should come down to dinner, meet the rest of us. You’ll see that we can be trusted.”

 

She stood up to leave, leaving Tessa’s head swimming. The terrier followed - she didn’t know his name. She didn’t know anything. She should ask Chali. Maybe he would know what to do. Where _was_ Chali, anyway?

 

Sudden visions of the tiny metal cage flashed before her eyes, and she looked around in panic, casting her eyes about for her tiny golden bird. Her heart rate only increased when she saw no sign of him - could she have been separated? God, no, no -

 

An exhausted, worn-looking gray hare was nestled on her lap, nuzzling into her hand.

 

Tessa looked down at it, and Chali’s eyes looked up at her.

 

This was too much. For the first time in weeks, Tessa Gray began to cry.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Two chapters in one day! Nice.


	3. The Substance of an Artist's Mood

“Chali.”

 

The hare in her lap tilted its head up and nuzzled her tearstained cheek. Tessa tried not to flinch away - who flinched away from their own daemon? - but she couldn’t help it. She couldn’t stand the idea that she was like _them_ , that she had the ability, somewhere within her soul, to torture and manipulate and -

 

“Chali, _why?_ ” Her breath hitched on a sob. “We’re _not_. We don’t… we can’t…”

 

Chalivan didn’t answer verbally, only settled back down and changed again, taking form as one of the sand crabs he’d liked to be as a child on Coney Island. When that failed to make her smile, he seemed to shiver, and then her little goldfinch was looking up at her, exhausted but none the worse for wear.

 

Tessa glared at him. “Tell me why.”

 

A little shrug of his wings. “Felt right.”

 

“Not to _me_!” She wanted to shake him. She felt… lost, somehow, shaken to the core. Betrayed in the worst way, by her own nature. Fresh tears welled up in a warm rush, and though she didn’t push Chali away when he moved to preen a piece of her hair, his touch didn’t bring her comfort like it once had, either. She expected, now, that she’d always be on edge, half-waiting for him to change again.

 

Her thoughts were interrupted by the arrival of a maid, bearing a dark red dress that she supposed belonged to the Jessamine Charlotte had mentioned. Tessa wiped her eyes frantically, looking up with a defiance she didn’t feel. Now she would be brought to dinner, and then they’d find a way to make her use her power, and then -

 

The maid dipped a curtsy and gave her a cursory glance, and Tessa had to force herself not to stare, reminding herself that that was horrendously rude.

 

She was pretty. Very pretty, with lightly tanned skin and wide brown eyes. Her daemon, a small furred creature with equally wide, equally striking eyes, was perched on her shoulder. Pretty was the only way to describe her, Tessa thought, despite the vicious, indented scar that ran from the right corner of her mouth all the way up to her temple, as if someone had tried to carve a line out of her face with a butcher’s knife.

 

“Miss,” she said, and Tessa tried to school her expression. She could tell from the sudden darkness in the other’s eyes that it hadn’t worked. “My name is Sophie. Mrs. Branwell sent me with one of Miss Jessamine’s dresses for you. I expect you can keep it, if you like.”

 

“Much obliged,” said Tessa stiffly, her shock over Sophie’s face warring with her displeasure at _owing_ things to the head of the Institute. They both fought to appear in her expression, but she willed her face into stillness. “Won’t she need it back?”

 

“She’s never worn it, miss. Mrs. Branwell got it for her as a gift, but she claimed it made her look sallow and tossed it away. Ungrateful, if you ask me.” The dress arranged to her satisfaction, Sophie made to pull the nightgown up over Tessa’s head. Tessa flinched automatically, and the look Sophie gave her then was sympathetic. “There’s no need for that here. Mrs. Branwell wouldn’t allow things like that to go on in her house. She has a good heart, that one.” But she’d taken a step back nonetheless. “Still, if you’d prefer to dress yourself, I can wait in the corridor, miss.”

 

Aunt Harriet had always said that you could tell the measure of a man not by what his equals thought of him, but by what his servants thought of him. Slightly reassured despite herself, Tessa allowed herself to be undressed and redressed. There was no use being stubborn when she didn’t even know how the clothes _worked_. It was a novel experience, allowing someone to dress her, but it was lost in the whiplash of the past few hours.

 

The dress itself, while fancier than anything she had ever worn, had clearly been made for a smaller girl, and it pinched. But then, at least she still had her mother’s angel pendant. Through all of this, no one had yet managed to steal it from her, and the feel of it around her throat was a comfort. Even Chali on her shoulder, back in his _right_ form, didn’t feel so bad. Tessa sighed, blinked, mustered up a genuine smile for Sophie.

 

“Thank you.”

 

Sophie started, and the undamaged side of her mouth quirked up. “Go on down to dinner, miss. Mrs. Branwell will escort you so you don’t get lost.”

 

Of course. This was a prettier prison, but she was just as trapped. _They’re going to help me find Nate,_ she reminded herself. _I just have to endure it until then._

 

_I just have to find Nate. Then everything will be all right._

  


* * *

  


The inside of the Institute was like a castle. It was, in fact, an old church - something Tessa had somehow absorbed from Charlotte’s flow of words earlier. She limped her way along the corridors after her new jailer, too-small shoes pinching her feet, until she was ushered into a large dining room.

 

A long table stretched its length, illuminated by a few gas lamps and one large chandelier. A bowl of water holding a few white flowers was the only decoration on the table, and only five places were set at one end.

 

Two seats were full. Will, looking much the same as he had before, if perhaps less armed, had his feet up on the chair across from him. Issalinde was curled up on his lap. They sat near a fine-boned girl in a shimmery blue gown, with fair hair piled on her head and a blue jay nestled in her hand. The both of them were glaring in opposite directions. Charlotte sighed, and cleared her throat.

 

“Will,” she said, and the attention of both occupants snapped to her. Charlotte had that sort of effect, Tessa thought. “You remember Miss Gray.”

 

“Most vividly,” said Will with a sarcastic half-smile.

 

“And Jessamine - Jessie, do look up. This is Miss Theresa Gray. Miss Gray, this is Miss Jessamine Lovelace.”

 

“Pleased to make your acquaintance,” murmured Jessamine, still not making eye contact. “This is Jascuro.”

 

Uncomfortable, Tessa took a seat beside Will, who was staring at Jessamine with distinct loathing. He only broke his stare to say to Charlotte, “Where’s your benighted husband, then?”

 

“Henry is in his workroom,” said Charlotte, with dignity. “He’ll be up shortly.”

 

Jessamine scoffed quietly. “And Jem?”

 

If Will’s previous look was loathing, this one was a hundred times worse. Tessa felt the need to shrink away, but fought it back. Charlotte, as well, cast her a sharp glance before replying.

 

“Jem is unwell,” she said. “He’s having one of his days.”

 

“He’s _always_ having one of his days.” Jessamine tutted. “If you ask me -”

 

At that, Issalinde leapt from Will’s lap onto the table, lip curled back over her teeth. The blue jay, Jascuro, squawked a jarring noise at odds with Jessamine’s demure appearance. Charlotte, as if this happened every day, moved without looking, pulling Will back by the collar and fixing them both with a burning stare.

 

“The two of you will behave civilly for dinner. Jessamine, you will not bait Will, and Will, you will control your temper.”

 

Will muttered an insincere apology. Jessamine acted as if Charlotte had said nothing at all.

 

Tessa was saved from the uncomfortable silence by the arrival of food. Sophie, as well as a gray-haired woman with a snake daemon wrapped closely around her wrist, began serving up soup and rolls and roast meat that looked better than anything Tessa had ever had freely available to her in her life. Chali chirped a quiet, pleased note as she began to fill her plate with as much as it would hold, steadfastly ignoring Will’s amused glance.

 

“You know,” said Jessamine, “I’ve never seen a warlock eat before. I thought they didn’t have to. I suppose you needn’t ever bant, do you? You can just use magic to make yourself slender.”

 

“We don’t know for sure that she’s a warlock,” said Will, as if Tessa was not in the room.

 

“Is it dreadful, being so evil?” she went on. “Aren’t you worried you’ll go to Hell?” Jascuro was needling at Chali’s feathers now. “What do you think the Devil’s _like_?”

 

Tessa met her eyes with some annoyance as Chali returned to her shoulder with an irritated huff. “Would you like to meet him?” She asked around a bite of roll. “I do know Lucifer on a first-name basis. Being a warlock, and all.”

 

Will chuckled under his breath. Jessamine’s eyes narrowed, but any reply she would have made was cut off by Charlotte’s shriek. “ _Henry!_ ”

 

The red-haired man who Tessa had met and bitten at the Dark House was standing in the doorway. He was splotched in soot and what looked like coal dust, and a small monkey Tessa had overlooked before was perched on his right shoulder, chittering away. That wasn’t what had made Charlotte yell, though. His right elbow was on fire, orange flames licking up his arm and scorching his jacket.

 

Henry didn’t seem to notice anything awry. “Charlotte, darling. Sorry I’m late. You know, I really do think I’ve got the Sensor working again!”

 

“Henry,” said Will in a conversational tone. “You know you’re on fire, don’t you?”

 

“Oh, yes,” said Henry happily. “Charlotte, did you hear what I said about the -”

 

“ _Henry!_ ” Said Charlotte, the terrier whining near his knee. “ _Your arm!”_

 

Henry glanced down at it. His eyes widened. “Bloody hell-”

 

Will jumped forward, seized the bowl full of flowers, and dumped them onto Henry’s torso. A sizzling noise went up, but the flames were doused, leaving Henry standing in a puddle of wilting white petals and murky water.

 

There was a moment of still silence. Then he beamed and patted his sleeve. “You know what this means?”

 

Will coughed. “That you set yourself on fire and failed to notice?”   


“That my flame-retardant mixture I put on here worked! It must have been on fire for ten minutes at least and it’s not even burned through!” The little monkey was chittering with pure delight, swinging from his un-scorched arm. “I should try the other sleeve and see how long -”

 

“If you set yourself on fire deliberately, I will institute divorce proceedings,” said Charlotte flatly. “Sit down and eat your supper.”

 

Slightly abashed, Henry did as he was told. He gave Tessa a sheepish smile, and she was startled to find herself smiling back.

 

It felt natural, almost. She buttered another roll.

 

The rest of the dinner was a haze. Did she know anything about Emma Bayliss? Anything about the Dark Sisters? The Pandemonium Club? Where did she think her brother would have gone? Did she know where the Sisters might have kept prisoners besides her? Was she certain that her brother was entirely human?

 

That one gave her pause. “I expect so,” she said, after a long hesitation. “He never showed any signs of having my… ability. But then, neither did I until the Sisters got to me.”

 

“What _is_ your ability?” asked Jessamine, leaning forward again. “Charlotte won’t tell me.”

 

“Jessamine,” said Charlotte in a tone of warning. Tessa looked up with a startled thankfulness.

 

“I don’t believe she has one,” Jessamine went on. “I think she’s just pretending to be a downworlder so we’ll help her find her brother.”

 

Tessa’s ears rang. She scarcely noticed that, in her anger, Chali became a bristling, angry squirrel before fluttering back into bird form.

 

“She needs to prove nothing to you, Jessamine,” said Charlotte, and the ice in her voice did more to convince Tessa that Charlotte was not seeking advantage from her than anything yet.

 

“No,” said Tessa. “I will.”

 

It took some time to convince Jessamine to give up one of the many dainty rings on her fingers, and longer still to soothe Tessa’s own mind.

 

“It’s all right,” murmured Chali into her ear. “We don’t have to.”

 

She shook her head. “We do,” she whispered.

 

So Tessa took the ring and reached into it, feeling for Jessamine’s mind, her… soul? Was what she did really touching the souls of others? And what did that mean for her?

 

She did it in the steps the Sisters had taught her. Undoing herself, slowly but surely, and pulling someone else through to her layer by layer. She heard gasps from the others, but kept her eyes tightly closed until the change was complete, until she felt the surface of Jessamine’s mind below hers.

 

Tessa nearly jumped and lost her grip on the Change. Jessamine was, despite her outward stillness, a whirl, a tempest, full of fury and bitterness and cruelty. But above all of that, louder than anything, was fierce, fierce longing for... _something_ , so strong that it almost brought tears to her eyes. She snapped herself away from Jessamine’s thoughts, opening her eyes.

 

The table was stunned into silence. Jessamine looked as if she’d seen her own ghost - which, in a way, she had. Will was looking at Chali, still on her shoulder, with interest. Charlotte looked shaken, Henry enraptured. Tessa reached for a feeling of vindication, but that aimless, desperate yearning was too fresh in her mind, and instead, she almost regretted her impulsive decision.

 

So she closed her eyes, letting the Change fall away from her all at once, and preparing herself for the barrage of questions that was sure to follow.

  


* * *

  


No, Tessa didn’t know how the Sisters had known about her skill. No, she didn’t have to be holding something from the person, not after the first time. Yes, she could sense people’s thoughts and emotions. No, they couldn’t tell she was doing it. Yes, she could Change into people who had died, and hear their voices. No, she really didn’t know whether Nate could do it too.

 

When she finally excused herself, her head was aching. She stumbled back the way she believed she had come, but after a few minutes, she was no closer to finding her room.

 

With a frustrated sigh, Tessa peeled off her too-small shoes and steadfastly ignored Chali. Perhaps she could go back the way she came, but the prospect of further questions was not a pleasant one. She’d just have to sit there until she worked up the energy to wander these identical corridors, that was all. She leaned her head back against one of the tapestries and closed her eyes, just as she heard a quiet, chirp-like meow.

 

“Lost?” asked Will.

 

“No, I prefer to sleep in my dinner clothes with my back to the wall,” said Tessa, without opening her eyes.

 

“Ah, then I won’t show you around. My mistake.”

 

Tessa sighed, getting to her feet. Will was leaning casually against a wall nearby, and while she was not particularly sure she liked his company yet, there was something pleasant in his sarcastic jibes. Besides, it was follow Will or sleep in the corridor.

 

To her surprise, Will was a fair guide. He pointed out the kitchens, where the cook with the snake daemon - Agatha - was cleaning up for the night. He explained that not all Nephilim had servants, but that the Institute would be hard to run without them, and that they were free to leave or stay as they liked. He showed her the weapons room, which lived up to its name, piled high with knives and swords and maces and bows and even a few muskets. The brown-haired man from the Dark House, Thomas, was there, organizing some of the ice-like blades. A servant as well, Will added, but trained with them since childhood.

 

And then there was the library. It was truly enormous, a spacious room lit by a few candles, shadows leaning between stacks upon stacks of books. Chali fluttered from shelf to shelf, all exhaustion forgotten, chirping joyously when he found volumes he recognized. _Oliver Twist_ made Tessa break into a grin - or it did, before Chali turned into a ferret to push it down to her with his newfound paws.

 

She flinched, only to see Will’s eyes on her. Watching. Knowing.

 

“Wait here,” he said, his voice unusually soft, and Issalinde jumped to his shoulder as he scaled a ladder to the higher shelves. A book - a _heavy_ book, more of a tome, really - came tumbling down, and Tessa barely caught it.

 

“The… Codex?”

 

“There’s a lot in there about warlocks. Warlock daemons in particular.” He shrugged. “Nephilim too, of course. Learn about us while you’re at it.” Issalinde let out a near-silent purr. “But be careful, that book’s the only one of its kind, and losing it is punishable by death.”

 

Tessa shoved it away from her. “You can’t be serious.”

 

“You’re right, I’m not. Naive little thing, really. Do you always believe things strangers tell you, or do I strike you as a trustworthy sort?” There was a harsh edge in his voice - the sort of thing that seemed to come and go. Sometimes his barbs had no sting to them, but other times it felt as though he meant them.

 

Odd. At the moment, Issalinde was staring past her, and Will had the sort of look that she found helplessly confusing. Like amusement, but only on the surface. As if he found the world to be a great, infinite comedy, and that in itself was its tragedy.

 

Perhaps she was feeling too poetic. She picked the Codex back up and cast around for a subject to talk about. Anything to remove such an expression from his face, really.

 

“Why do you live here?”

 

“Hm?”

 

“You’re clearly not related to Charlotte and Henry, and all Nephilim children can’t live here or there would be more than you and Jessamine-”

 

“And Jem,” Will interrupted.

 

“Yes, but you know what I mean.” Chali had transformed again. Now he was a mottled tabby cat, sitting beside Issalinde in a companionable silence. Issalinde glanced down at him and turned away. “Why don’t you live with your family?”

 

“Don’t have any. Jessamine’s died in a fire. Jem… came from a long way away to be here. The Institute is responsible for young Nephilim without a home to go to.”

 

“So you are one another’s family.”

 

“If you must think of it that way, I suppose we are. You as well, then, however temporarily.”

 

His voice was neutral, indifferent. And it was true, Jessamine had been rude, Charlotte had been blunt, Will had been ill-mannered. But Sophie had been kind. Henry had smiled at her. And Will had brought her something that might, somehow, explain what she was.

 

A true, full smile felt odd on her face. But she turned to Will nonetheless, hoping he could see, somehow, that there was a warmth of happiness somewhere within her.

 

A small one. But it would grow.

 

Then Issalinde hissed. Chali had curiously wandered too close, and she lay her ears back flat. She didn’t strike at him, but she showed her teeth, flashing in the candlelight. Will turned away, all in one motion, and scooped her up into his arms.

 

“I’ll show you back to your room,” he said, somewhat coldly. Tessa felt the bubble of happiness recede. What had she been thinking?

 

Well. That didn’t matter. She shut her mouth on anything she had been tempted to say, Chali fluttered back to her shoulder as a goldfinch, and she followed Will out into one of the identical corridors.

 

Sophie was waiting nearby. Will’s face lit in the same unpleasant grin he’d worn before.

 

“Ah, Sophie darling. Did you finish cleaning my room?”

 

“I did.” Her tone was flat and icy. “It was filthy. In future, please refrain from tracking bits of dead creatures through the house.”

 

“All part of the job, Sophie.”

 

“Mr. Branwell and Mr. Carstairs manage to clean their boots. Perhaps you could learn from their example.”

 

“Perhaps,” said Will cheerily. “But I doubt it.”

 

Sophie turned on her heel and walked away, leaving Tessa staring after her in shock. “What was _that_ about? Why were you -”

 

Will shrugged a loose shrug. “Sophie enjoys pretending she doesn’t like me.”

 

“She _hates_ you!” Despite herself, Tessa felt a wave of protectiveness for Sophie. She didn’t deserve Will’s rudeness. “Did… something happen between you?”

  
  
“Tessa,” said Will. “Enough.”

 

“Because it looks to me like you’ve done something horrible to her!”

 

Issalinde stared at Tessa for a moment. Not Chali. Tessa. Then Will shrugged. “That’s fine with me. It’s not like you know anything about me.”

 

“I do!” In contrast to the warmth of happiness she’d felt in the library, Tessa felt cold and defensive. What had changed so quickly? “I know you’re sarcastic, and you like books, even if you pretend you don’t. I know you fight with Jessamine and care about Jem. I know you’re an orphan, as I am-”

 

“I _never_ said I was an orphan.” Will’s voice was biting. “Not once. Just because you have dead parents doesn’t mean I have to be lumped in with such a pathetic lot. I suppose you don’t know much about me after all, do you?”

 

With that, he turned on his heel, leaving Tessa and Chali alone again, in the unfamiliar corridor.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I really love rewriting interactions with daemons. I'm not doing much if anything to change canon, but it's so incredibly fun. I'm sorry if this reads like the original book with only some extras - I do my best to put in my own writing style and voice, but there's only so much I can do. Still, I'm really happy to be doing this. 
> 
> Also, Jem my Most Favorite of Characters makes his appearance soon, and I'm so down for that.


	4. The Stars

 

It was late by the time Tessa found her way to her room. No Will appeared to help her this time, not that she would have accepted his help in the first place. By the time she found a familiar tapestry and stumbled into her room via trial and error, the moon was high and shining through her window.

 

Still, Tessa didn’t sleep. Exhaustion weighed at her, but the moment she lay down, her mind was buzzing. She rolled from one side of her bed to the other, wishing - oddly - for the moment of comfort she’d had two days ago, in the garret in the Dark House. Things were worse then, of course, and she would never willingly go back. But things were _familiar_. Chalivan hadn’t flickered into something unknown. Tessa had known what her captors wanted of her and what the consequences were for disobeying. It was a stability that, despite herself, she missed. 

 

Well. She sat up with a sigh after a few more moments of tossing and turning, cracking the Codex open to read by moonlight.

 

It spoke of Nephilim. The offspring of humans and angels, who wore black Runes upon their skin that gave them power. They were the only ones who could bear such marks without burning with heavenly fire, it said. Warriors, by nature.

Will. And Charlotte, and Henry. Even Jessamine, perhaps, though Tessa had noticed that her skin bore no marks.

 

It was hard to think of them, these imperfect people, as such a grand thing. But Tessa supposed that was the way of it. Nothing in this world was as perfect as it should be.

 

The Codex spoke of vampires. Tessa had thought them the stuff of penny dreadfuls, but they existed, cold, immortal beings who waited out the centuries. Of faeries, a tricky race who never lied, but had honed the skill over centuries so that they never told the truth.

 

And it spoke of warlocks. It was an ugly word, she thought. An insult. Not something she would want.

 

Warlocks were the children of humans and demons. Not daemons, no, but _demons_ , monsters - creatures of darkness. (Her parents had been dead since she was a child. Was one of them… _which_ one of them?) Warlocks could use magic, the strength and likes of which depending on their ancestry and their demon parent. Warlocks were marked, in some way, though they otherwise appeared human. Some had cat eyes. Or blue skin. Or forked tongues, or wings, or silver claws.

 

Tessa breathed a slow breath. She had no deformities, no warlock’s mark. She was, perhaps, something new. Something different. She would not need to worry, she would only need to read on for her own curiosity.

 

Warlocks’ daemons never settled. Whether it was because of their only half-human heritage, or because they were, in a way, ever childlike, for they were….

 

Un-aging.

 

Tessa fought the urge to slam the book shut. She was not immortal. She was not immortal because she was not a warlock. She aged from a child like anyone else, she _had_ to be like anyone else. And so she read on, desperately seeking a refutation.

 

Warlocks could be killed, but after a certain point, their bodies ceased to age, and they would live forever barring illness or violent death.

 

Tessa closed the book, gently. She set it beside her on the bed, looked at Chali, and fought the urge to cry again.

  


* * *

   


Tessa’s dreams were fragmented and disturbing. She was chasing someone, or being chased, or she was left alone in an empty cell as centuries went by and by and by.

 

In time, music started to filter through her mind. It was soft, and sweet, and when she opened her eyes, she felt somehow that she was still dreaming. But the music didn’t stop. Quiet, almost heartbreaking, but unceasing, it drifted from across the hall and made itself comfortable in the corners of her room.

 

Tessa climbed out of bed, watching moonlight move across the stone floor, and pulled a dressing gown on over her sleeping clothes. Chali, sleepy and warm, became an ermine that twined around her neck, but Tessa couldn’t find it in herself to be upset. She scratched his head, and opened the door to her room, wandering out into the hall, her feet as silent as possible on the stone floor.

 

She crossed the hallway to the door from behind which the music echoed, and it opened under her touch.

 

A man not much older than Will was standing in the moonlight cast by the window. It bleached the color from the room, casting everything in silver and black and gray and white. He had a violin tucked gently under his chin, and was wringing the gentle music from it, his eyes closed.

 

At his feet lay a daemon Tessa had never seen before - perhaps a cat? A raccoon? A fox? It had a triangular face with odd markings, and fur that looked silken and smooth and soft. It was impossible to tell what color it might be in the moonlight, but it was curled on the floor, eyes half-lidded.

 

The man didn’t look up or stop playing when the door opened, but she knew he heard it, because the daemon’s head tilted ever so slightly.

 

“Will?” He asked, gentle. “Will, is that you?”

 

She couldn’t bring herself to answer and interrupt the music. But he interrupted it himself, turning to look at the door and setting his bow down. “Will - you’re not Will.” He didn’t sound angry, more pleasantly surprised, though Tessa was certain she was the one to blame for barging into a stranger’s room at all hours of the night. He stepped out of the patch of moonlight, and at first, she thought he had carried it with him. Then she realized that his hair and eyes were, simply, that shade of shining silver.

 

She had never met anyone with such odd coloring before. But then, she was meeting many people she could never have imagined of late.

 

Her voice sounded harsh and jarring in the silence. “I’m so sorry. I heard the music, and my room is across the hall, and -”

 

“That’s all right.” He offered her a slight smile. “You’re Miss Gray, aren’t you? The shape-changer. Will told me a bit about you.”

 

Her stomach dropped. “Oh.”

 

“Oh?”

 

“It’s just… I think Will is angry with me. So whatever he told you -” Chali was waking up, unwrapping himself from her neck. With a rustle, he became himself again, flying down to look curiously at the other daemon.

 

“Will is angry with everyone.” There was a laugh in his voice. “I don’t let it cloud my judgment.” He was putting the violin away now, moonlight sliding off its surface as he lay it on top of the wardrobe. When he turned around, he seemed bathed in light again. “I’m James Carstairs. Jem, really. This is Kasimela.”

 

The soft-looking creature, Kasimela, chirruped and nuzzled into Jem’s hand. Out of the moonlight, her fur had a very slight russet tint to it, though it was still mostly white and silver. Chali alit on the edge of the cedar chest at the foot of the bed, watching.

 

“You’re Jem,” said Tessa. “Charlotte said you were ill. Are you feeling better?”

 

“I am,” he said.

 

When no further explanation was forthcoming, Tessa felt questions bubbling to the surface. “Will said you came from a long way away to live here. Where were you? Why did you come to London in particular?”

 

He smiled a little ruefully. “You ask a lot of questions, don’t you?”

 

She flushed. “My brother says curiosity is my besetting sin.”

 

“As sins go, it’s not a bad one.” Kasimela climbed into Jem’s lap. “So ask as much as you want. I cannot sleep as it is.” A hesitation. “I was in Shanghai.”

 

“What were you doing there? That’s so far away.”

 

A quiet laugh. “I was born there. My mother was Chinese.”

 

Tessa blinked. It made perfect sense, yet she hadn’t considered it. Feeling the fool, she shut her mouth, but Jem seemed to have questions of his own.

 

“You’re looking for your brother?”

 

She nodded.

 

“What sort of person is he, your brother? What’s he like?”

 

Tessa was thrown off for a moment. All of the questions from the others - what was Nate. Where was Nate. What did she think he would do. No one had yet asked what he was _like_.

 

“Well,” she started, surprised to feel her throat growing thick. “He’s… a dreamer. He sees the world as such a beautiful place. He has so many plans for his future, such grand ideas, but whenever anything bad happens, it’s as if he doesn’t see it, since it doesn’t fit in with his dream. Aunt Harriet said we had to protect him. The world would beat him down if we weren’t careful.” She swallowed hard, staring at Jem’s hands. She didn’t want to cry again. “What’s that?” She asked abruptly, pointing at the open-eye like symbol on his right hand.

 

Jem, politely, didn’t seem to notice the change in subject. “It’s a Rune. For clear sight,” he explained, then turned his arm over and rolled up his sleeve. His entire arm was decorated with the lines of ink-like script. “To see in the dark, to heal quickly, to have strength in battle,” he listed.

 

“Do they… hurt?”

 

“They all do when you receive them, but never again after that.” He traced the edge of one rune with a slender finger. “That can’t be all the questions you have.”

 

Chali laughed. Not a malicious laugh, but a soft one. A gentle one, much like everything about this room, this moment, was gentle. Jem laughed along with him, giving Tessa a warm thrill.

  
“Why can’t you sleep?” asked Tessa.

 

Jem froze. Then he sighed. “I have bad dreams.”

 

Tessa nodded, but didn’t press for more. “I was dreaming, too. About your music.”

 

Another slow smile. “A nightmare, then?”

 

“No! It was beautiful. The only beautiful thing in this wretched city.”

 

“London isn’t so bad, once you get to know it,” said Jem pleasantly. “You should come with me into the heart of it, someday. I’ll show you the beautiful places, the ones I love.”

 

“Singing the praises of our fair city?”

 

It was Will. Will, who had suddenly appeared in the doorway, mud on his coat, hair wet, blue eyes somewhat wild, smelling like night air and metal. Issalinde’s fur was damp as well, where she leaned against his shin.

 

Tessa’s stomach dropped at the same time as her heart leapt a little. It was an uncomfortable sensation, and she winced. Will seemed not to notice, flinging himself down to sit on the edge of Jem’s bed.

 

“Your hair’s wet,” said Jem. “Where’ve you been tonight?”

 

“Here, there, and everywhere,” said Will, shrugging out of his coat. Despite his typical grace, he was moving… oddly. His face was flushed, and his eyes sparkled, and -

 

“Boiled as an owl, are you?” Jem’s tone was affectionate.

 

 _Of course. He’s drunk_.

 

“Went to the Devil Tavern,” said Will, having extricated himself from his coat. “But no sooner had I consumed my fourth drink than I was accosted. Attacked, if you will, by a delightful small flower-selling child. She asked me for two-pence for a daisy, and when I refused, proceeded to rob me.”

 

“A little girl robbed you?” Tessa asked, despite herself. Will flashed her a grin.

 

“She wasn’t a little girl at all, but a tiny man with a penchant for violence by the name of Six-Fingered Nigel.”

 

“Easy mistake to make,” said Jem. He had seated himself on the cedar chest, smiling his infectious, good-natured smile. Chali pecked discreetly at Tessa’s sleeve.

 

“Look,” he said, almost silent, and gestured with his beak. Tessa did, and blinked in surprise. On the floor at the foot of the bed, Issalinde and Kasimela were curled up beside and around each other, with not an inch of skin left untouched. Issalinde’s purring was nearly audible even over Will’s drunken rambling. As Tessa watched, Kasimela swiped a rough-looking tongue over Issalinde’s ear. The two boys were still bantering, with a foot or more of space between them, but…

 

Well. It wasn’t unusual whatsoever for daemons to come in contact with each other. To play together, or sit next to each other, touching casually. Especially if the people involved were close friends or family. And while this level of touch wasn’t _quite_ usual, it wasn’t unheard of.

 

Most importantly, Issalinde, who had been so haughty, so aloof to everyone, looked _happy_. Warm, and contented, almost. Like having Kasimela curled around her was the only place she really enjoyed.

 

Tessa hid a smile. It seemed even Will wasn’t immune to the easy, calm pleasantness that Jem seemed to exude. She hadn’t thought Will was this close to _anyone_.

 

Her thoughts were interrupted by Will’s voice. He had flopped down on Jem’s bed, staring up at the ceiling. “I see you’ve met the shape-shifting mystery woman.” He turned to Tessa. “Do you usually show up in gentlemen’s bedrooms in the middle of the night? If I’d known that, I might have tried harder to get Charlotte to let you stay.”

 

“Well, I can hardly be blamed for getting lost when _someone_ abandoned me in the corridor,” she said, unsure if the bite in her voice was real or not. It seemed so long ago, now.

 

“She may be right, Will,” said Jem with solemn amusement. Will rolled over to fix him with a betrayed stare.   


“Is this how it’s going to be? You two teaming up on me? I’ll have to befriend Jessamine.”

 

“Jessamine can’t stand you.” Jem, as well, was smiling wider and wider.

 

“Henry, then.”

 

“Henry will set you on fire.”

 

“Thomas.”

 

“Thomas is -”

 

Tessa did not find out what Thomas was. All at once, Jem doubled over, a powerful cough wracking him. It was so strong that he slid from the cedar chest and onto his knees on the floor, gasping for breath.

 

Tessa was frozen, but Will’s drunkenness seemed to vanish in an instant. He sprang off of the bed, kneeling beside Jem with a hand on his shoulder as he fought for air.

 

“James,” he said, soft and urgent. “James. Where is it?”

 

“Don’t… need it,” choked Jem, but another spasm hit him and he doubled over. A spray of red hit the stone floor by his knees - blood.

 

“James.”

 

Jem seemed to give up, slumping against Will’s arm. “On… the mantel. In… its box.”

 

“Stay here,” said Will, as gently as Tessa had ever heard him speak. He looked up as he got to his feet, and suddenly seemed to remember that Tessa was there. In an instant, he had grabbed her by the arm and escorted her out the door, half-closing it behind them and moving to block her view of the room.

 

“Will,” she whispered. “Will, is there anything -”

 

“Good night, Tessa.”

 

“But he’s coughing blood,” she insisted. “Should I get Charlotte?”

 

Will met her eyes with an unreadable expression. Was he angry? Afraid? She wanted to look for Issalinde to see if, somehow, she could discern his thoughts, but she didn’t break eye contact, for fear he’d send her away.

 

“He has medicine. I’ll get it for him. He doesn’t want Charlotte to know about this, so you won’t tell her.”

 

“But he -”

 

“ _Please_ , Tessa.”

 

Tessa froze. Then she sighed, and despite herself, she nodded.

 

Will exhaled in a shaky breath. “Thank you.”

 

He turned and bounded back into the room. Before the door closed, Tessa could see Jem’s hunched form on the floor, Kasimela curled on his lap as if to comfort him.

 

That wasn’t what stayed with her. Chalivan had done the same thing for her, many times, when she was ill.

 

Perhaps Tessa hadn’t seen correctly. It had been such a whirl. But before the door slammed shut, she could have sworn she saw Issalinde, shoving her head into Jem’s shaking hands, nosing at his legs, her blue eyes full of panic.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ah yes, the scene that motivated me to write this AU in the first place. My most favorite scene. 
> 
> Tessa doesn't know this because she's never seen one, but Jem's daemon is a red panda. She's mostly albino, which Jem sees as a mockery of the way the yin fen affects him, but because he's Jem, he never holds it against her.


	5. The Present Now and Here

 

When Tessa came to breakfast the next morning, Jessamine was already staring at her. Exhausted, she managed a wan smile.

 

“We were just talking about you,” said Jessamine bluntly, as Tessa sat down beside Henry. Everyone save Jem, once again, was there. Charlotte passed her a plate of toast with a warm smile, which she took gratefully, as Henry attempted to put butter on his newspaper. The little monkey didn’t seem inclined to correct him, and was shredding bits of napkin with a curious expression.

 

Tessa tore her gaze away. “What about me?”

 

“What to do with you,” said Will. “Obviously you don’t want to live here forever. Just until we find your brother, but if we don’t or if he’s dead, Charlotte’s too damned maternal to throw you into the streets.” He was eating with vigor, which struck Tessa as odd, considering that he’d claimed to be out drinking for most of the night. “I say we sell you to some passing nomads.”

 

“Stop it.” Charlotte’s reprimand was lost on Tessa, who was watching Issalinde. Perched next to Will’s seat, she seemed unperturbed and aloof as ever. Sensing Tessa’s eyes on her, she tilted her head and casually began grooming one paw. Charlotte went on, “Will, I want you to go to the Dark House today, see if you can find anything. With Jem, if he’s well enough.”

 

“He’s well enough,” said an amused voice from the door. Tessa startled.

 

Jem was standing steadily in the doorway, looking for all the world like someone who had _not_ spent the last night coughing blood onto the floor. His silver coloring remained the same, but he was less deathly pale, his eyes gleaming brighter. There was even a hint of color in his cheeks, and Kasimela sat at his side with a contented expression.

 

All in all, it seemed as though the night before had never happened.

 

“At least eat some toast,” said Charlotte, a note of worry in her voice. The terrier trotted over, giving Kasimela a once-over that she tolerated patiently before retreating to the back of an empty chair. Jem sat down in it, placing Tessa directly between Will and Jem, and reached for the proffered toast. “Oh, and Jem, this is Miss Gray -”

 

“We’ve met,” he said in a low voice, making Tessa blush. When Charlotte looked puzzled, he elaborated, “I stumbled across her in the corridor last night and introduced myself. I’m afraid I may have given her a bit of a shock.”

 

Tessa tried to look like this was, indeed, what had happened, and fixed her gaze on Issalinde and Kasimela. If any of the affection from the night before was present, it wasn’t noticeable. They sat near each other, but that was all, both seeming preoccupied with their own thoughts. It was almost enough to make Tessa think she’d imagined things. Surely, surely Issalinde hadn’t touched Jem. It wasn’t something that was done - to touch another person’s daemon was incredibly rude, incredibly... _violating_ , Aunt Harriet had told her. She’d tried it once as a child, when Nate’s Faela had become an entrancing, iridescent dragonfly. She had almost brushed a wing when Nate howled and her aunt came running, ready to scold.

 

It made sense, though. The thought of someone she didn’t know touching Chali was enough to send a shudder of discomfort through her. Even someone she _did_ know… she wasn’t sure. Not at all.

 

But then... Jem hadn’t reached for Issalinde, hadn’t touched her. _She_ had touched _him_. Tessa wasn’t sure what that changed, but it felt like quite a lot.

 

“Stop staring,” said Chali from her shoulder, and she jumped, tearing her eyes away from the two daemons. Jessamine was saying something, and she forced her attention to it.

 

“Well it’s obvious to _me_ that the only thing Tessa has to put on her back is that hideous red dress of mine, and it doesn’t even fit her. I’m taking her out to buy a decent set of clothing.”

 

Tessa blinked. “Oh, no, you don’t need to,” she said, the idea of an entire day with Jessamine swimming nightmarishly in her mind.

 

“We should be focusing more on finding her brother than finding her clothes,” said Charlotte.

 

“I don’t care about finding her brother, and we need to feed and clothe her. You fed her. I’ll clothe her.” Jascuro had puffed himself up into an agitated, round sphere.

 

“You’d best let her do it,” said Henry, who Tessa hadn’t realized had been following the conversation. “Remember when you asked her to sort the weaponry and she used it to cut up all the linens?”

 

“We needed new linens,” said Jessamine, without a hint of apology.

 

“All right,” Charlotte groaned. “All right. Will and Jem will go to the Dark House. Don’t look so pleased about it, Will. Jessamine can take Tessa to do as she wishes. Sometimes I despair of the lot of you.”

 

“What’s Tessa done?” asked Will with great innocence. “She’s only just arrived.”

 

Charlotte dropped her head into her hands, muttering in a vaguely threatening manner, and Henry reached out to pat her shoulder and make soothing noises. Ignoring this, Will leaned directly over Tessa towards Jem. “Are we leaving now?”

 

“Let me finish my tea first,” Jem said, with unending patience. “Why are you in such a hurry?”

 

Will huffed. “Perhaps I want to be back early. You don’t know, I might have an assignation in SoHo with a certain attractive someone.”

 

“Goodness,” said Tessa, to the back of his head. “If you keep seeing Six-Fingered Nigel like this, he’ll expect you to declare your intentions.”

 

Jem choked on his tea.

 

* * *

 

The day with Jessamine went about as well as Tessa had expected. They wandered into multiple shops, each one another opportunity for Jessie to play a daughter of aristocracy, or a grieving widow, or a cousin of a wealthy merchant. Every so often, she produced a dress for Tessa, and while it was true that by the end of several hours, she had four or five new dresses and two new jackets, it also didn’t seem the most efficient of outings.

 

Once even Jessamine seemed to be slowing down, Tessa leaned against the carriage window.

 

“Will we be going back to the Institute now, do you think?” _Please, let us be going back to the Institute_.

 

Jessamine’s face fell. “But… it’s such a nice day. Why don’t we go to the park for a while? I had something to talk to you about, anyway.”

 

Tessa sighed, but Jessamine _had_ just bought her an entirely new wardrobe. She nodded, and as the carriage rattled into motion again, Jessamine fixed her with an intense, dark stare.

 

“I expect you’re wondering why I’m being so nice to you.”

 

Chali scoffed. Tessa bit back any ill-thought out reply, and simply nodded.

 

“It’s not out of the goodness of my heart.” She scowled. “I need something from you. Eventually, this mess with your brother will be resolved, yes? And you won’t want to stay in _that_ horrid place.”

 

Tessa didn’t say it, but she was beginning to find that the “horrid place” felt more like home than anywhere had since her aunt had died. For all its secrets and unexplainable things and for all Will’s irritability and Jessie’s bitterness, she was… perhaps, not so unhappy. Instead of voicing this, though, she merely nodded again and made a noncommittal noise.

 

Jessamine patted Jascuro’s head for a moment before speaking. “I want you to come and live with me. I can’t live alone, outside - people would _talk_. But you could be my cousin, from America, and we could live together for a while, just until we caught husbands. We’d be the best of friends, if you don’t want to be my cousin. Even a Boston Marriage, if that pleases you! It doesn’t put most available Londoners off when you have enough of a pretty face and enough money.”

 

Tessa blinked, temporarily stunned into silence. She was saved from having to reply immediately by the carriage pulling up to a small park, and in the bustle of disembarking, she tried to process what Jessamine was offering. A place to live, certainly, but at the cost of spending every day with Jessie, she found it a hard bargain.

 

Jessamine was talking again as they set off down a path. “My parents left me a reasonable sum of money. But you see, I’ll never get a husband if I’m trapped in the Institute all the time, and I’ll never get out of the Institute until I find a husband. Or at the very least, _someone_. And we’re friends, aren’t we, Tessa?” She looked petulantly up from under her lashes. “Even those two -” a gesture towards their daemons - “are similar.”

 

At that, Chali transformed from his usual goldfinch into a miniature horse. Jessamine pretended not to notice, and Tessa fought to hide a smile, her uneasiness overruled by amusement.

 

“It isn’t as though you have anywhere else to go,” she prattled on. “And I could introduce you to the best people. Take you to parties. I’m sure we’d catch husbands in no time at all.”

 

 _She makes it sound like a disease,_ thought Tessa, a little hysterically.

 

“And - where _are_ we?”

 

They drew to a stop, glancing around. Chali returned to the form of a goldfinch, hiding himself under Tessa’s hair.

 

They were in one of the places off the path, the sort of overgrowth tucked away into corners of large cities. Surely people passed through here, sometimes, but at the moment, it was deserted. It was a wild place, still choked in smog, but not quite public, somewhere in a thicket of trees. Shadows stretched from their trunks, and Tessa felt goosebumps rise on her neck.

 

Something stood in front of them.

 

At first, Tessa thought it a child. Then it raised its head, and she saw that it was an old, wizened-looking man, with mottled skin and eyes that were very, very white. Shining shoes adorned its feet, and its arms seemed to stretch longer than they should, nearly touching the ground.

 

“You left the path,” it said in a melodious voice.

 

Jessamine flinched. She didn’t say a word, but she slowly, very slowly, took Tessa’s arm, pulling her around until she was facing back the way they’d came - and the little man was before them again. Tessa thought she could see the light of the park, in the distance, but didn’t want to look away from the creature. It sent shivers through her. Beside her, Jessamine ran her hand over the parasol she carried.

 

“Pretty girls,” it said. “You left the path. Foolish Nephilim, coming to this place unmarked.” It took a step closer, tilting its head to the side. “Here there is strange earth. City earth. If your angel blood falls upon it, golden vines and diamonds will grow. And I claim it. I lay claim to your blood.”

 

“Jessamine,” said Tessa, quietly, gripping the other girl’s arm.

 

“Be quiet,” she snapped, and looked the creature in its milky eyes. “Hobgoblin. Whatever you are. We have no quarrel with the Fair Folk. But if you touch us -”

 

“You left the path,” it sang.

 

“You don’t want to do this. You don’t want -”

 

The creature sprang forward. As it did, its mouth seemed to open, wider and wider, revealing a gullet lined with teeth, all the way down. Tessa stumbled back, but Jessamine had already moved to throw herself in front of her, defending. As Tessa gazed at her in fear and amazement, she flicked her wrist in one expert motion, and her parasol opened as if it were a flower. Jascuro shrieked a cry of fury.

 

The goblin screamed. Blood was streaming from a cut on its cheek, and spattered the fabric of the parasol. With a shock, Tessa saw that its edges were razor-sharp, lined with a silvery metal. Jessamine struck at their foe again, opening a new slice on its arm, raised to protect itself.

 

The goblin babbled desperately. “Mercy, mistress, mercy -”

 

“Mercy?” Jessamine slashed out again, catching one of its eyes. Tessa looked away from the sudden gush of red. “You wanted to grow flowers from my blood, you vile, you _disgusting_ -” Each word now was punctuated with another strike. “I _hate_ you and everything _like_ you!”

 

It had stopped moving now, a weak gurgle coming from its throat, but Jessamine did not stop, a strange hysteria in her motions. Spurred into motion, Tessa caught her arm on the way down.

 

“Jessamine!” She struggled in her grip for a moment, and Tessa was taken aback - beneath the layers of frills and cloth, Jessamine was _strong_ , all corded muscle and furious power. “Jessie.” Tessa threw her arms around her, pinning her, though there was no way she could hold her down for long - but then she went limp in her arms, turning her face away. Her breath hitched, and Jascuro made a near-silent, pained sound.

 

“No,” said Jessamine, her voice breaking. “No, I didn’t want to. I had to, I didn’t mean to, _no_ -”

 

Tessa glanced at the ground, where the goblin’s body was motionless. Its blood streamed in rivulets into the grass, and holding Jessamine as she cried, Tessa had to wonder what would grow there now.

 

* * *

 

The carriage ride home was a silent affair. Jessamine stared out the window at the London traffic without a word.

 

Chali, carefully, fluttered over to Jascuro and preened a feather from behind his head, careful not to touch beyond one brush of beak. Jascuro puffed up in surprise, but Jessamine gave Tessa a startled, grateful look.

 

When they arrived, Jessie took her by the arm and nearly dragged her inside, up the staircase, and into the corridor. “I want to show you something.” Tessa found herself ushered into what must have been Jessamine’s room.

 

It was sparsely decorated, with the same bed, screen, and two chairs that every room contained. In fact, the only addition seemed to be a large, beautifully realistic dollhouse. Jessie pulled her to a stop in front of it, flinging her bloodstained parasol down onto the bed.

 

“This is my house,” she said, breathing hard.

 

“You mean, this was yours as a child?”

 

“No. This is the London town I lived in. See?” She gestured at the rooms - stunningly detailed, covered in pieces of wallpaper, with polished, miniature furniture and tiny oil paintings. Two dolls sat in the parlor, ever still, ever frozen. “Here are Mama and Papa. And here-” She gestured to a nursery on the second floor, in which another tiny doll was rocked in a cradle - “here is baby Jessie.” Her breathing still hadn’t slowed. “Soon they’ll eat dinner in the dining room, together. And Mama and Papa will go out, to the theater, or to a social. And then Mama will kiss Papa goodnight, and they will go to their room and they will sleep. All. Night. Long.” Her voice was rising, now, Jascuro growing more and more agitated. “There will be _no_ calls from the Clave in the middle of the night that send them out to fight monsters in the dark. _No one_ will lose an arm, or an eye, to poison. No one will have to choke down _holy water_ because a vampire attacked them!” Her face twisted. “I had nowhere else to go when our burned. Henry was the one who made me that parasol, did you know that? I thought it was a lovely gift until he showed me what it could do. It was always, always meant to be a weapon.”

“You saved us with it,” said Tessa, quietly. “If you hadn’t done what you did-”

 

“I shouldn’t have.” She stared into the dollhouse with empty eyes. “I will not have this life, Tessa. I _will not have it_. I don’t care what I have to do. I’d rather die.”

 

“Don’t talk like that -”

 

In that instant, Tessa realized she’d said something wrong. Her face shut down, growing icy cold, the feverish hysteria fading, and she turned away.

 

“I’m growing tired of you already,” said Jessamine, drawing to her feet only to lay down beside her bloodied parasol. “And I have a terrible headache. Leave me.”

 

“Jessie-”

 

“Are you deaf?” Jascuro burrowed into the skin of her neck, cooing sadly. “I said, get out.”

 

Silently, Tessa did as she was told.


	6. Ever the Mutable

Charlotte arrived outside of Tessa’s room an hour or so later with news of imminent dinner. Tessa had been listening to the steady ticking of her clockwork angel, half-inclined to read through the Codex again, in case it had something to say about those who left the Nephilim voluntarily, like Jessie’s parents.

 

Dinner seemed the more appealing option, and at least she had clothes that fit this time, so she followed Charlotte and the terrier - Chali had informed her that his name was Raimond - until Jessamine appeared from behind a door on the landing, scowling intensely. 

 

“It’s Will,” she said, without waiting for a greeting. “He’s being absolutely ridiculous in the dining room.” 

 

Charlotte took the interruption in stride. “How is that different from Will being ridiculous in the hall, or the library, or any of the places he’s usually ridiculous?” 

 

“Because,” said Jessamine in a huff, “We have to  _ eat  _ in the dining room.”  With that, she turned and stalked off down the hallway. At least, Tessa thought, she seemed more her usual self. She hadn’t known what to do with a hysterical, weeping Jessie - a bitter one, she could handle. 

 

Noticing that Charlotte was looking after her with a slightly melancholy expression, she offered a small smile.

 

“It  _ is  _ a bit like they’re your children, isn’t it?” 

 

“Yes,” said Charlotte, with a sigh. “Except for the part where they’re required to love me, I suppose.” 

 

Tessa had no reply to that. 

 

* * *

 

When she arrived at the dining room - alone, since Charlotte claimed she had a message to send in the drawing room - she found Will standing on one of the sideboards, attempting to reach the chandelier. Jem was watching him with a dubious expression. 

 

“It serves you right if you break it,” he said, before inclining his head to Tessa. “Good evening, Tessa.” Following her gaze, he laughed. “Will is attempting to straighten the chandelier. He insists it was crooked.” 

 

Tessa could see nothing wrong with the chandelier, but before she could say as much to either boy, Jessamine was huffing at Will. 

 

“Really! Can’t you get Thomas to do that? A gentleman shouldn’t -” 

 

“Is that blood on your sleeve, Jessie?” Will interrupted, glancing down. Jessamine’s face tightened, Jascuro puffing back up into a defensive posture, but she turned on her heel without a word and went to sit at the end of the table, staring straight ahead. 

 

“Did something happen while you and Jessamine were out?” It was Jem, looking genuinely concerned. As he turned to look at her, Tessa caught a glimpse of something green, shining at his throat. 

 

Jessamine looked panicked. “No,” she began. “It was nothing -” 

 

“I’ve done it!” At that moment, Henry burst into the room, conveniently commanding the attention of all four occupants. He was brandishing something that looked like a copper tube. “I’ll wager you didn’t think I could, did you?” 

 

Will abandoned his attempt to reach the chandelier in favor of glaring at Henry. “None of us have any idea what you’re on about.”   
  
“I’ve gotten my Phosphor to work at last!” He waved the copper tube with a frenzied joy. “It functions much like a witchlight stone, but so much stronger! Simply press a button, and you’ll see a blaze of light you’ve never imagined.” 

 

Silence. Will was the one to break it. “So… it’s a very  _ bright _ witchlight.” 

 

“Exactly,” said Henry with great contentment. 

 

“Is that useful?” asked Jem, somehow managing to sound more politely curious than skeptical. 

 

“Wait till you see it!” was the only reply. “Watch.” 

 

Will started to yell a protest, but Henry had already pressed a button on the side. There was, indeed, a blinding flash of light - and then the room was plunged into pitch darkness. Tessa yelped in surprise, and Kasimela made a concerned, barklike noise. 

 

“Am I blind?” Will’s voice floated from somewhere above them. “I am not going to be at all pleased if you’ve blinded me, Henry.” 

 

“Er, no,” said Henry. “No, it seems to… have turned every light nearby  _ off _ .” 

 

Will muttered something under his breath. A moment later, there was a tremendous crashing noise, a loud yowl from Issalinde, and a flood of cursing.

 

“Will!” cried someone in alarm. A moment later, Charlotte was standing in the door, holding one of the shining stones Will had possessed in the Sisters’ house. She set it on the table, where it flared up into a functional makeshift lamp. Will himself was lying on the floor in a pile of broken plates and cups from the sideboard, having fallen spectacularly. “What on earth…”

 

“I was  _ trying _ to straighten the chandelier,” said Will, sitting up and brushing bits of ceramic from his shirt. 

 

“And now you’ve gone and wrecked half the plates.” Despite her annoyed tone, Raimond was trying to give Issalinde the same once-over Kasimela had received that morning. Issalinde, ever less patient, wriggled away to join Will in his pile of crockery. 

 

“It was your husband’s fault,” Will muttered, and looked down at himself. “I may have broken something. The pain is agonizing.” 

 

“You look quite intact to me,” said Jessamine, watching the proceedings with a smirk. As she and Will began to argue, and Charlotte fussed over Henry, Tessa turned to Jem. The green thing she had noticed earlier, it turned out, was a pendant - made of a dull green stone, in the shape of a closed hand. 

 

Before she could ask about it, Jessamine slammed a fork down. “Charlotte,” she said. “Make Will let me  _ alone _ .” 

 

“I would,” said Will, “if you’d tell me why you have blood on you. Let me guess, Jessie. You found some unfortunate woman who was wearing the same dress as you, and you slit her throat in vengeance.” 

 

Charlotte turned to both of them. “Will, leave her alone,” she said automatically. “Henry, you’re putting peas onto Jessamine’s plate, not yours. Do pay attention, darling.” 

 

At that moment, Sophie arrived, the witchlight stone casting strange shadows over her scarred face. She bent down to whisper to Charlotte, who looked relieved. “Already?” She jumped to her feet and left the room, only pausing to put a hand on Henry’s shoulder. 

 

Silence. 

 

Will broke it. “Sophie, darling.” Sophie shot him a look of distaste. “What was that about?” 

 

“If Mrs. Branwell wanted you to know, she would have told you herself.” With that, she followed Charlotte out of the room. Will promptly turned to Henry. 

“Don’t give me that look,” he said, continuing to spoon peas onto his own plate. “Charlotte doesn’t tell me everything that’s going on. Can’t blame her, really. You can’t count on me to be sensible.” 

 

He looked a bit sad, though, and Tessa wished she could offer him some comfort. 

 

They ate in silence, instead. Tessa put her hand on the angel pendant, Chali fluttering in mild distress. Kasimela, noticing this, made a chirring noise and nosed at him with her round, soft-looking face. 

 

Chali blinked several times, and attempted to mimic her form - not perfectly, of course. Tessa knew he’d be loath to do such a thing - but as he had done with Issalinde earlier. When doing so only made him a raccoon, he chattered irritably and turned away with a huff. 

 

Will, who had been watching the interaction as well, laughed a little, but there was no venom in it this time. Tessa looked to Jem with a grateful smile, and his answering grin was enough to soothe her spirits and give her a little glow of happiness. 

 

Their silent exchanges were interrupted by the return of Charlotte, who was looking conflicted. Jessamine promptly turned to her. 

 

“Well?” 

 

Charlotte ignored this. “There’s someone who wants to speak with you, Tessa.” 

 

“With  _ me? _ ” Chali returned to his goldfinch form, alighting on her shoulder. “Who is it?” 

 

“Yes,” said Will, “by all means, don’t keep us in suspense.” 

 

Charlotte sighed. “It’s Lady Belcourt.” Tessa gave no reaction save for mild puzzlement, but one of Jem’s silver eyebrows arched. Will glanced sharply across the room. Jessie, oddly enough, smiled. “I contacted her to see if she’d heard anything about Nate. It turns out that De Quincey might have him, but she won’t tell me more until she sees Tessa. I suppose rumors about you have leaked through Downworld, and she wants something from you.” 

 

“Who’s Lady Belcourt?” asked Tessa, feeling this was something she should know. “And De Quincey?” Her tongue slipped a little over the name. When no one answered, she turned to Jem as the most likely to give her a reply. “Is she Nephilim?” 

 

“She’s a vampire,” said Jem after a moment. “And an informant, really. She tells Charlotte things about Downworld in exchange for protection from the Clave. De Quincey is the head of the London vampire clan,” he added as an afterthought.

 

“You don’t need to speak to her if you don’t want to,” said Charlotte. 

 

“What? No.” Chali fluttered in annoyance. “If she knows about Nate, I’m not sending her away.” 

 

Will gave her a piercing look. “You don’t even know what she wants from you.” 

 

“Then I suppose I will find out,” said Tessa, trying to emulate a tone of her aunt’s that had brooked no argument. She didn’t stay in the room to find out if it had worked, only turned to follow Charlotte out the door. 

 

* * *

 

They had scarcely made it halfway down the corridor when Will and Jem caught up to them. 

 

“You didn’t  _ really _ think we wouldn’t come along, did you?” asked Will, who looked almost cheerful. Issalinde trotted along at his heels, tail and head held high. Charlotte turned back and frowned, but said nothing. 

 

“I know  _ you _ can’t leave anything alone,” said Tessa, not looking at him. “But I expected better of Jem.” 

 

“Where Will goes, I go,” said Jem in his usual good-natured manner. They had turned into a new corridor, which sloped ominously down. Noticing Tessa’s concerned expression, he added, “This corridor leads to the Sanctuary. It’s the only part of the Institute that isn’t on hallowed ground, so it’s where we meet with those we otherwise couldn’t. Vampires, mostly.” 

 

“Are they cursed? Vampires?” 

 

Charlotte, turning to look at her, shook her head. “No. We think of it more as a disease. Most demon diseases can’t be contracted by humans, but a few can - vampirism, lycanthropy-” 

 

“Demon pox,” said Will. 

 

“There’s no such thing as demon pox and you know it,” said Charlotte. “Where was I?” 

 

“Being a vampire isn’t a curse, it’s a disease,” Tessa repeated obediently. “But they can’t walk on hallowed ground? Does that mean they’re damned?” 

 

“That depends on what you believe,” said Jem. “And if you even believe in damnation at all.” 

 

“But… you’re descended from angels. Surely you believe in damnation.” 

 

Jem just shrugged. “I believe in good and evil, and that the soul is eternal. But I’ve never believed in a fiery pit and pitchforks. I don’t believe in people who threaten others in the name of goodness.” 

It was such a Jem thing to say that Tessa needed to take a moment, lest her startled admiration show in her face. She covered this by turning to Will. “What do  _ you _ believe, then?” 

 

“ _ Pulvis et umbra sumus _ ,” said Will shortly. 

 

“Whatever you believe, please don’t suggest to Lady Belcourt that you think her damned,” said Charlotte, drawing to a stop in front of an intricately carved set of doors. “That applies to you especially, Will.”

 

With that, Charlotte opened the doors. The room beyond was long, with no windows. A large stone fountain stood in its center, within which a statue of an angel cried endless tears into the fountain’s basin. A few chairs were set in a circle, and a few lanterns and witchlight stones burned on the walls. 

 

In one of the chairs was a beautiful, but austere-looking woman. Ash-blonde hair fell from an elegant knot at the top of her head. She did not move, nor breathe - in fact, the only hint of motion about her was a flicker of her eyes as the four of them approached. 

 

For a moment, Tessa’s stomach dropped - it appeared that Lady Belcourt had no daemon. But then, after a moment, she saw that nestled in the blonde hair was a small, green spider, its shade the same as her eyes. 

 

“It was kind of you to wait for us,” said Charlotte. “I trust the Sanctuary is comfortable enough?” 

 

“As always,” said Lady Belcourt, sounding bored. Her voice was slightly accented. “Miss Gray, I presume?” Tessa, unsure of what to do, was saved from needing to reply as the vampire’s gaze fell on Will. “Ah, and Mr. Herondale. I see you’ve come to greet me.” 

 

“You’ve met?” 

 

“He won twenty pounds from me at faro.” 

 

Will didn’t look particularly abashed at this, though Charlotte gave him an irritated look. “Oh, don’t look so upset. It was part of the investigation. I was posing as a mundane human fascinated by Downworld in one of the Pandemonium clubs, it would have looked odd if I refused to gamble.” 

 

“You should have turned in your winnings to the Clave.” 

 

“I spent it on gin. The spoils of vice are a heavy burden.” He flashed Charlotte his usual grin, making her sigh. 

 

“I will deal with you later. Camille -”  _ So that was her name _ , Tessa thought - “what is it you had to offer Miss Gray?” 

 

Lady Belcourt, Camille, tilted her head. “One hears many things in Downworld. Not the least of which are the activities of Alexei De Quincey. The man  _ hates  _ Nephilim.”

 

“De Quincey has always been an ally-” started Charlotte. 

 

“Pretense. He resents you, primarily, which is why I thought you might care to know that he has been slaughtering humans for over a year now. He makes a grand occasion of it, in fact. Soirees at his townhouse and the like.” 

 

Charlotte looked stunned. Camille went on without pause, despite this clearly being a shock. “One hears, Miss Gray, that you are seeking a man of your surname. I saw him several times, bearing the look of someone who had lost all he owned and was willing to lose the rest of it in search of forgetfulness.” The spider moved one leg, languidly. Slowly. “He may not be with De Quincey. He may have already been killed. But I have no doubt that Alexei, or one around him, will know of his whereabouts.” She smiled. “One also hears that you can not merely alter your appearance, but make a faultless copy of another.” 

 

Tessa nodded, slowly. She thought she could see where this was going, but one thing still evaded her. She skirted around the topic with a “And what is it you want from me?” 

 

“Simple. The rest of you cannot infiltrate De Quincey’s home. I can. Or rather, you can, as I value my existence as much as any of you. Charlotte will have her evidence of wrongdoing, enough to convict him. Miss Gray will have the chance to seek out her brother.” 

 

Jem fixed her with an even, silver gaze. “And what do you stand to gain from that, Lady Belcourt?” 

 

She fixed her smile on him. Tessa glanced at her teeth, but they seemed perfectly normal, with no sign of sharpening. Perhaps that really was a myth. “Simple,” she said. “I want De Quincey dead.” 

 

* * *

 

There was a great back and forth of discussion. 

 

Was Tessa willing to do this? Who would accompany her, posing as her human blood-servant? How would they inform the rest of the Clave about De Quincey’s betrayal? Was Tessa even  _ able _ to Change into a downworlder? 

 

Yes, Tessa was more than willing if that was what it took to find her brother. Will volunteered to go without a word, as did Jem, which led to a brief, mostly silent exchange between the two. 

 

_ You know why it can’t be you _ , Will finally said, without inflection. Kasimela turned away from him in silence, and the matter was dropped. 

 

Charlotte would call the nearby Nephilim to the Institute to convene. And, finally, there was only one way to find out if Tessa’s disguise would hold. 

 

Tightly clinging to one of Camille’s ruby necklaces, Tessa braced herself. She still wasn’t fond of using her gift, though it caused her only minimal pain by now - it reminded her too much of the sweltering, humid rooms of the Dark House. 

 

But this was for her brother. This was all for her brother, for Nate. She reached into the necklace with her mind and pulled Camille’s skin over her own. Her vision went dark for a moment, and then bright, and then - 

 

Something was wrong. A pain speared through her chest as her eyes fluttered open, to see Camille smiling and the others looking shocked, but impressed. She couldn’t focus on them - something was  _ wrong _ , a great emptiness inside her, and Chali froze, shaking, his feathers still and unable to move, as she collapsed into one of the chairs, trying to gasp for breath. 

 

It hurt, as though her body wanted to reject it. Worse, Tessa could feel the hollowness more strongly now, and she recognized it for what it was - her heart was motionless in her chest. 

 

“Tessa?” Jem had sank down in front of the chair, sitting on his heels as he reached for her hand. “What’s wrong?” 

 

Charlotte was looking on as well, Raimond nudging at Chali with a worried whine. Will stood near her with an inscrutable expression. Another painful breath, and she looked into Jem’s silver eyes, trying to force words from her throat. “I. My heart’s not beating, I feel as if I’ve died, Jem-” 

 

He stroked her hand carefully, soothingly, ready to move back if she asked. He looked up at her still, though, and the expression on his face hadn’t changed when she had. He looked at her as though she were still Tessa Gray. “You are alive,” he said, in a voice so soft only she could hear it. “You are wearing a different skin, but you’re Tessa, and you’re alive.” He looked at Chali, still frozen in fear on the floor, but didn’t seem to judge either of them for it. “Your soul is the same.” 

 

Tessa closed her eyes, trying to focus on the comfort of his hand, the warmth of his skin. Slowly, she caught her breath, despite the pain of it. She felt as though her face would be scarlet, if it were able, though why she wasn’t sure. Humilation, most likely. 

 

“Tessa,” said Charlotte, breaking the silence. “Are you all right?” 

 

Carefully, she nodded. Chali fluttered his wings, weakly. Camille, seemingly unbothered, gave her an appraising look. 

 

“An impressive showing, all in all,” she said. “Though you will have to take care to imitate my posture and mannerisms. I would never slouch in a chair in that fashion.” 

 

Unable to think of a reply to that, Tessa merely nodded. Taking that as permission to return to herself, she let the Change go, shaking as her heart began once more to beat, and as air stopped burning at her throat and chest. 

 

Chali flew to her side and burrowed into her neck, still trembling. She raised an unsteady hand to comfort him. 

 

“My necklace?” asked Camille, and Jem took it from her to return it. “I will not leave you to go to De Quincey unaided. Magnus Bane will be there.” 

 

“The warlock?” asked Charlotte, with a hint of surprise. 

 

“Yes. He attends such parties often. Though he, like me, tends to avoid those where murder is committed.” 

 

“Very noble of him,” muttered Will. 

 

“No one will be surprised to see us together,” said Camille as though no interruption had occurred, “as he is my lover.” 

 

A silence. No one seemed sure of what to say to that. Charlotte finally cleared her throat. “How… nice?” 

 

“Indeed it is.” Camille Belcourt rose to her feet. “Now. I have business to attend to, if there is no further need of me.” With a nod from Charlotte, Will and Jem moved to escort her out.  _ Like soldiers, _ Tessa thought, though she supposed that was what they were. 

 

Chali was still shaking. She didn’t blame him. 

 

If that was what a life of immortality was like… well. Tessa didn’t care to think about it. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Camille's demon is a green lynx spider. Scary looking. Good at eating harmful things. Also good at eating beneficial things! Also very scary looking, did I mention that? 
> 
> Also, I've skipped over any parts not from Tessa's POV, of which there weren't many in the beginning, but as the story progresses it gets more and more important to mention some things she's not there for.   
> So should the POV change, I'm just trying to put enough details in that the plot still makes sense, while summarizing it effectively and maintaining the daemons.


	7. And Entrance-Song of All

 

Many things about vampires unnerved Will. The way they moved, the way they  _ didn’t _ move, the fact that their fangs tended to appear without warning and for no apparent reason. But nothing was more upsetting than the fact that they didn’t have a  _ smell _ . All humans smelled of something - sweat, soap, smoke, perfume - but vampires smelled like nothing, like a wax mannequin. 

 

Camille brushed by Jem on her way out of the corridor, and Will followed, pausing to mutter under his breath, “She doesn’t smell like anything.” 

 

Jem looked mildly alarmed. “You’ve been smelling her?” 

 

“I  _ haven’t _ been smelling her, and that’s the problem.” 

 

Camille, who was halfway to the next set of doors, turned her head at this, smiling. “It makes us better predators, Mr. Herondale.” 

 

“That, and excellent hearing,” he said unabashedly, as Jem let the door swing shut. They were in the entranceway now, her hand on the front door as if she meant to hurry out. But she turned and fixed them both with an appraising, unhurried look. 

 

“Look at you both,” she said. “All black and silver. No one would doubt that you could be a blood-subjugate, William.” 

 

Will decided to take that as a compliment. Jem, meanwhile, was looking at Camille with that particular look of his that Will always thought could cut glass. Mela was still and watchful at his side. 

 

“Why are you doing this, Lady Belcourt? This plan of yours, De Quincey, all of it - why?” 

 

Camille smiled. She was beautiful, Will thought, like pressed flowers were beautiful. Lovely, but dead. “Because the knowledge of what he was doing weighed on my conscience.” 

 

Jem shook his head. “You’ve known about this for a year now, and you only just came to us.” 

 

“That was because of Miss Gray.” 

 

Will sighed, rolling his eyes, but it was still Jem who spoke. “Tessa is your opportunity. Your reason is something else.” Mela tilted her head a bit - a gesture she’d picked up from Issalinde. “Why do you hate De Quincey so much?”   
  
“I don’t see what business it is of yours, little silver one,” said Camille, and she did show her teeth then, long needle-like fangs that dented her lips. “What does it matter to you what my motives are?” 

 

Will scoffed quietly. “Because otherwise we can’t trust you. You know that. You could very well be sending us into a trap.” 

 

Her tone was mocking. “And risk the terrifying wrath of the Clave? How unlikely.” 

 

“Lady Belcourt,” said Will, Issalinde starting to bristle at his side. “Whatever Charlotte may have promised you, if you seek our help, you will answer the question.” 

 

Camille tutted. “Very well,” she said. “I want De Quincey dead because, a decade or so ago, he executed a close friend of mine. In much the same way as he will do to some poor, mundane human at this next party. The others aided and abetted him. I do not forget, and I do not pardon.” Her spider daemon scurried, faster than Will had ever seen it move, and jumped to her hand, as she smiled. “Kill them all.” 

 

* * *

 

Tessa awoke with a start at the sound of a knock on her door. She’d been dozing, her finger still keeping her place in the Codex. After setting the book down, she barely had time to sit up and call “Come in,” before the door opened and Charlotte entered, witchlight in hand. 

 

Her face was very serious, and there were lines of exhaustion below her eyes. “You’re awake?” 

 

Tessa nodded, and Charlotte moved to sit at the edge of her bed. Raimond nuzzled at her feet as she folded her hands with a slight sigh. 

 

“Tessa, there is something Henry and I discovered when we went to speak with Mortmain, the man who offered your brother a job here.” 

 

Tessa froze, Chali ruffling his feathers, but she nodded for Charlotte to go on. 

 

“Nathaniel already knew about Downworld before Mortmain introduced him to De Quincey. It seems... he learned about it from your father.” When Tessa, stunned, said nothing, she went on, “How old were you when your parents died?” 

 

“There was an accident,” said Tessa after a moment, a bit dazed. “I was three. Nate was six.” 

 

Charlotte frowned. “That’s very young for your father to confide in him. But I suppose it’s possible.” 

 

“No,” said Tessa. “No, you don’t understand. There was never anything strange about how we grew up, Aunt Harriet was always so - and she would have known, wouldn’t she? She was my mother’s sister, she would have known.” 

 

“People keep secrets, Tessa, even from the ones they care for.” Charlotte brushed a hand over Raimond’s fur, sighing slightly. “And you must admit, it does make sense.” 

 

“It doesn’t make any kind of sense!” 

 

“Tessa…” Raimond whined a little. “We don’t know why you have the ability that you do. But if one of your parents was connected in some way to Downworld, that’s at least the start of an explanation.” 

 

Chali looked as though he was considering pecking at Raimond, just to be contrary, so Tessa put a hand over him. He huffed, flew out from under it as a dragonfly, and sat on the nightstand, buzzing. “I suppose,” Tessa said finally, in a grudging tone. “It’s only…” 

 

Charlotte waited in silence. She didn’t try to speak over Tessa, or suggest what she was thinking. She merely waited. 

 

“It’s just… I believed so strongly, when I came here, that everything that was happening to me was a dream.  _ Like  _ a dream, at least. My life before had been real and this was some dreadful nightmare. I thought that if only I could find Nate, we could go back to our life and things would be as they were.” She raised her eyes up, looking into Charlotte’s warm brown ones. “But now I have to wonder if the life I had before was the false one. If my parents knew - if they were part of Downworld as well - then there’s nowhere I can go that will be clean of all this.” 

 

Charlotte looked at Tessa with a steady gaze. “Have you ever wondered where Sophie got her scar?” 

 

Completely caught off-guard, Tessa stammered for a moment. “I- I mean - I wondered. But I didn’t like to ask.” 

 

“Nor should you,” said Charlotte. “She prefers not to speak of it, but she will not mind me telling you in this instance, I think. When I first saw Sophie, she was sitting in a doorway with a bloodied rag clutched to her cheek. She saw me as I walked by, though I had a glamour rune at the time - that’s what caught my attention. She has a touch of the Sight. I offered her money, and medical help, but she refused. I coaxed her into accompanying me into a tea shop, and she told me what had happened to her.” Drawn into the story despite herself, Tessa nodded. “She had been a parlor maid in a fine house. Sophie was very beautiful, which was a great advantage and disadvantage to her. As you might imagine, the son of the house took an interest in her, and after being turned away repeatedly, he took a knife and cut open her face, saying that if he couldn’t have her, he’d ensure no one wanted her again.” 

 

Tessa flinched. 

 

“She went to her mistress, the boy’s mother, but he claimed that she’d tried to seduce  _ him _ , and he had taken up the knife in self-defense. Of course, they threw her out on the street. By the time I found her, the wound was badly infected - the Silent Brothers cured the infection, but couldn’t heal the scar.” 

 

Tessa put her hand to her own face, without realizing she’d done it. “Poor Sophie…” 

 

Charlotte looked at Tessa steadily. She had such a strong presence, it was hard to remember how physically tiny she was. “Sophie has a gift,” she said. “She can see what others don’t. In her old life, she often wondered if she was mad. Now she knows otherwise. There, she was a parlor maid, who would likely have lost her position once her looks faded. Now, she is valued, someone with much to contribute.” Charlotte leaned forward, a bit. “It is true that perhaps, in her old life, she would have found someone better than her previous employers, or someone who could provide for her still better than we can. In fact, she is still free to seek someone like that, should she desire it. This life we lead is not perfect, and it is not her only option - nor is it yours. But, for her, it was the better choice.” Raimond barked quietly. “You look back on the life you had, Tessa, and it seems safe in comparison to this one. But you and your aunt were very poor, if I am not mistaken. What would you have done after she died? Perhaps you would have scratched out a living. Perhaps you would have grown rich. Or perhaps you would have ended up in an alley, bleeding.” Charlotte shook her head. “In this life, you have a power of incalculable value. You need ask nothing of anyone. You are free, and that freedom is a gift.” 

 

“It’s hard to think of anything as a gift when you have been tormented and imprisoned for it.” 

 

A quiet sigh. “This power is a part of you, Tessa. You need do nothing with it if you do not desire to, but you cannot wish it away now that it has been found.” 

 

Tessa pulled the covers closer to her. “So you are saying that I was right. That this is real, and my old life was a dream?” 

 

“I am not the one who can decide that for you.” Charlotte reached out and patted her shoulder. It had been a long time since anyone had touched her in such a motherly way - she thought of Aunt Harriet, and her throat grew tight. “But someday soon, either way, it will be time to wake up.” 

 

* * *

 

“Try the walking again,” said Will. “We’ll tell you if it’s convincing.” 

 

Tessa groaned. They were in the library, with Will and Jem sitting on one of the long tables as she, wearing Camille’s body, worked herself through endless drills of walking, standing, sitting, speaking with her odd accent, and generally not making a fool of herself in a new body. 

 

It had been two days, and she still didn’t have it down. Whenever she tried to reach for Camille’s mind to tell her what to do, she… slipped off of it, almost, as though a slippery glass barrier was all she could touch. 

 

So, it seemed, she would be learning from scratch. 

 

Will was not done talking. “You point your feet out too much when you walk. You’re supposed to be like a graceful fawn walking through the woods, not a duck.” 

 

“I do  _ not  _ walk like a duck,” said Tessa, any inclination to be mature dissipating. 

 

“I like ducks,” said Jem diplomatically (and unhelpfully.) “Especially the ones in Hyde Park.” He glanced over at Will - they were sitting side by side, legs dangling off the table. “Remember when you tried to convince me to feed a poultry pie to them to see if you could breed a race of cannibal ducks?” 

 

“They ate it too,” said Will in a tone of reminiscence. “Bloodthirsty little bastards. Never trust a duck.” 

 

Chali, amused with this turn of events, became a mallard. He had been sitting with Kasimela and Issalinde for most of Tessa’s lessons, but at this he began to chase them good-naturedly, quacking all the while. Will snatched his legs up as they streaked under the table and ran in circles, Chali chasing them like a duck possessed, wings flapping. 

 

“ _ Tess _ !” He sounded intensely betrayed. Jem was laughing,  _ really _ laughing, loud and clear and joyous. He was leaning back on his palms, and Will flopped over until his head was in his lap. “Jem, protect me. She’s a madwoman.” 

 

Jem merely ruffled Will’s hair, pushing him back upright, his eyes silvery and beautiful and soft. 

 

Tessa cut her lip on fangs that had not been there a moment before. She ran her hand over her bloodied mouth with an annoyed groan, making both boys look up at her. “I wish I knew what makes them come out like this!” 

 

“Hunger?” Was Jem’s suggestion. 

 

“Were you thinking of eating me?” added Will. 

 

“No,” said Tessa, starting to giggle, “though I’m considering it.” 

 

“No one would blame you,” said Jem. “He’s very annoying.” 

 

“I think you meant to say that I am very  _ delicious-looking - _ ” 

 

“Oh  _ Camille _ , what sharp teeth you have,” singsonged Tessa, sending the three of them into spasms of laughter. 

 

They were all laughing so much so that they almost failed to notice a group of people entering the library until it was too late. Jumping up, Will gestured for them to hide behind a nearby bookshelf, and Tessa’s skirt and Kasimela’s fluffy tail had just disappeared behind it as Charlotte led as many as ten or twelve men and women towards the long table. 

 

They were of all ages and sizes, the oldest of them with white hair in long braids or close-chopped cuts. They all wore tough black coats and trousers, even the women, and all had the inky Marks Tessa had grown used to seeing. 

 

“Gabriel Lightwood,” said Jem under his breath, indicating the youngest of them, a brown-haired boy with angular features. A medium-sized raptor with dark wings sat on his shoulder. “What’s he doing here? I thought he was at school in Idris.” 

 

Will, unmoving, raised his eyebrows, a smirk starting to play around his lips. 

 

“Just don’t fight with him here,” Jem added hastily. “That’s all I ask.” 

 

“Rather a lot to ask,” said Will, who was leaning his head out from behind the bookcase to watch. This was unfortunately timed, as an old man with grayish skin and grayish hair caught sight of him at that moment. 

 

“Who’s there?” Will whipped his head back behind the shelf, but it was too late. “Show yourself!” 

 

Will glanced at Jem, who merely shrugged. “No point hiding until they drag us out, is there?”

 

“Speak for yourself,” hissed Tessa. “I don’t want Charlotte angry with me if we’re not supposed to be here.” 

 

“There’s no reason you’d have known about the Enclave meeting,” said Will. “She always knows who to blame. I’d turn back into your usual self, though. Don’t want to upset their constitutions too much.” 

 

Tessa, to her astonishment, had nearly forgotten. Over the last two days, and the last few hours of joking with Will and Jem, Camille’s cold stillness and silent chest had become, if not comfortable, tolerable. She released the Change as quickly as she could, and was entirely Tessa Gray by the time they stepped out from behind the shelf. 

 

“Will,” sighed Charlotte. “I informed you that the Enclave would be meeting in the library at four o’clock.” 

 

“Did you?” Will asked, Issalinde purring innocently. “Must have forgotten that. Dreadful.” His eyes slid sideways, and he grinned. “‘Lo there, Gabriel.” 

 

The boy looked at Will with plain dislike, his mouth working. “William,” he managed, before turning to Jem. “And James. Are you meant to be lurking around Enclave meetings?” 

 

This was ignored as an older, regal-looking woman spoke up. “Is this the warlock?” Her gaze raked over Tessa, who met it with as much confidence as she could muster. “She doesn’t look like much.” 

 

“Neither did Magnus Bane the first time I saw him,” said the man who had spotted Will. “Let’s have it, then. Show us what you can do.”

 

Tessa flinched, but Charlotte drew herself up. “Miss Gray has already proved her bona fides to Henry and I. That will be enough until the Enclave decides whether to make use of her skill or not in the matter of De Quincey.” 

 

“They’d be fools not to,” said Will immediately. “We haven’t a chance of succeeding in this without her-” 

 

“Mrs. Branwell,” interrupted Gabriel. “I do believe these two aren’t permitted in the meeting without invitation?” 

 

Charlotte hesitated for a moment, but then sighed. “Will, Jem, Tessa, wait outside in the corridor.” 

 

“I will show you out,” said Gabriel, as Will’s expression tightened and Issalinde’s ears went back. Jem gave him a warning look, though, and he held his temper until the door closed behind them and Gabriel spoke again. “ _ You _ . You disgrace the name of Nephilim.” 

 

His daemon was furious, the feathers around its neck puffed outward. Issalinde, as well, was bristling, but Kasimela seemed afraid to touch her in front of Gabriel. Chali, having already been rebuffed once, made no attempt to soothe her. 

 

Will leaned against the wall and looked at him icily. “I didn’t realize there was anything left to disgrace. Not after your father-” 

 

“I will thank you  _ not _ to speak of my family,” snarled Gabriel. 

 

“How fortunate,” said Will, “That the prospect of your gratitude is not a tempting one.” 

 

Gabriel’s cheeks darkened to a dull scarlet, but he seemed to have no reply to that. “ _ Monomachia _ , Herondale,” he said finally. “I will chop you into bloody carpet rags-” 

 

“Stop it, Gabriel,” said Jem, before Will could reply. “Goading Will into single combat will do no good. You know how he is, it’s like punishing a dog after you’ve angered it into biting you.” 

 

“I appreciate the testament to my character, James,” said Will, though he half-smiled. 

 

Gabriel, on the other hand, only shot Jem a dark glare. “Stay out of this, Carstairs,” he said. “This doesn’t concern you.” 

 

Jem moved closer to Will, matching Gabriel’s cold stare with one of his own. The hairs on the back of Tessa’s neck prickled. “If it concerns Will,” he said softly, “it concerns me.” 

 

It reminded Tessa of what he had said a few days before, on their way to the sanctuary.  _ Where Will goes, I go.  _ That, however, had felt like a jest, while this… felt more like a deadly promise. 

 

Gabriel flinched, but shook his head. “You’re a decent man, Carstairs,” he said. “And a good Nephilim. You have your… disability, but no one blames you for that. But this-” he jabbed a finger in Will’s general direction. “This filth will only drag you down. Find someone else to be your  _ parabatai _ . No one expects Will Herondale to live past twenty-five, and no one will be sorry to see him go, either -” 

 

At that, Tessa burst out without thinking. “What a thing to say!” 

 

Gabriel, interrupted mid-rant, looked as shocked as if the tapestries had started talking to him. “Pardon me?” 

 

“Telling someone you wouldn’t be sorry if they died - it’s inexcusable!” Chali fluttered furiously, puffing himself up, though he was still dwarfed by the bird of prey on Gabriel’s shoulder. Tessa, meanwhile, took hold of Will by the sleeve. “Come along, Will. This - this  _ person _ obviously isn’t worth wasting our time on.” 

 

Jem was hiding a smile, while Will looked immensely entertained. “So true,” he said, mouth twitching at the corners.

 

Gabriel stammered for a moment. “You- you don’t have any idea of the things he’s done.” 

 

“And I don't  _ care _ , either. You’re all Nephilim, aren’t you? You’re meant to be on the same side! Apologize to him.” 

 

“I,” said Gabriel, “would sooner have my entrails pulled out and tied into a knot before my own eyes than apologize to such a worm.” 

 

“Goodness,” said Will. “You can’t mean that. The bit about the entrails, I mean. It sounds horribly unpleasant.” 

 

“I do mean it. I would rather be shoved into a vat of Malphas venom and dissolved until only my bones are left-” 

 

The door opened. It was the same gray-haired man from earlier. “Gabriel,” he said, in a dangerous tone. His snake daemon was wrapped gently around his neck. “Would you care to rejoin the meeting? Or would you prefer to play out here in the corridor with the rest of the children?” 

 

Gabriel winced. No one in the corridor was especially pleased by that comment, to be fair, but he looked as though he’d been struck. “Apologies, father,” he murmured, and with one last glance at Will, he strode back into the library. There was a beat of silence. 

 

“Well,” said Jem. “That was about how I thought it would be. Is this the first time you’ve seen him since last year’s Christmas?” He added to Will. 

 

“Yes,” said Will. “Perhaps I should have told him I missed him.” 

 

“Perhaps not,” said Jem. 

 

“Is he always so awful?” asked Tessa. “Why does he hate you so much?” 

 

Will just shrugged, then turned and made his way down the corridor, whistling. After a moment, Jem followed him, Kasimela in his arms, inclining his head for Tessa to follow. She hurried after them. “What do you mean about Gabriel’s father being a disgrace?” Tessa asked, when it seemed clear her first question would receive no answer. Will snorted. 

 

“With the amount of time he spends consorting with the unsavory, I wouldn’t be surprised if the man has a nasty case of demon pox,” he said. 

 

“He’s made that up,” said Jem in a stage-whisper, as they ascended a set of stairs.

 

“I have done no such thing.” They had arrived at a narrow door, and Will produced a stele, drawing the same rune he’d used to open Chali’s cage at the Dark House. It seemed so long ago now, Tessa thought as the door swung open with a puff of dust, though it truly hadn’t been. 

 

Will wandered inside without a word, and they followed. It was a small storeroom, higher than it was wide, its only illumination coming from an arched window set well above their heads. Trunks and boxes lined the walls, and old, rusty-looking weapons were heaped in the corners. Tessa examined one that appeared to be a chain with a spike on it as Will dragged a trunk across the floor to clear some space. 

 

A great plume of dust puffed up. Jem coughed, and Will’s head snapped towards him, but it was a weak, dry cough. Nothing like his labored, choked breathing on the night that still felt a bit like a dream. Kasimela looked reproachfully at Will until Jem caught his breath.

 

“One might think you brought us here to murder us,” he finally said, “if your motivations for doing so weren’t cloudy at best.” 

 

“No murder,” said Will. “Hold on while I move one more trunk.” The ensuing dust storm was a mess of stumbling and coughing, but once finished, there was a sizable space. “Good, now come sit down.” 

 

They did so, forming a loose triangle, and Will began to draw another rune on the floor. It seemed, Tessa thought, as though he was less drawing the lines, and more  _ uncovering  _ them, as though they had always meant to be there. It was beautiful to watch. 

 

And then they weren’t there at all. A sizable patch of floor had turned clear - a window, through which they could see directly down into the library. 

 

Kasimela laughed, setting her paw on it, and Chali fluttered in a circle, curious. It seemed stable, and they could hear a quiet murmur of voices from the other side. 

 

_ Can they hear us? _ Tessa mouthed, but Will shook his head. “No, it’s one-way.” He leaned forward. “What have we missed?”

 

Mr. Lightwood the elder’s voice drifted up from the library. “This whole thing seems quite risky, Charlotte.” 

 

“But we can’t allow De Quincey to go on as he has,” said Charlotte, one hand in a fist behind her back. “If we allow him to break the Law, the others who look to him will follow his example. And we cannot sit back and allow more mundanes to die.” 

 

“I find it odd that you’re basing such an endeavor on the word of Lady Belcourt, that is all. She is, after all, not known to be the most reliable.” 

 

A broad-shouldered man with dark hair spoke up. “Come now, Benedict. Looking for a reliable informant is like seeking a chaste mistress. If they were virtuous, they’d be of no use at all. It’s her job to bring us information, and our job to confirm it, which is what Charlotte is suggesting we do.” 

 

“It would be far better if a Nephilim had seen him breaking the Law,” said the regal woman with the white braid. 

 

“That’s what this plan is,” said Charlotte again. “If I understand, most objections are that we would punish De Quincey for a crime he did not commit, thus endangering our alliance?” Nods around the table, from Benedict Lightwood and one or two others. “But we are not seeking to harm De Quincey or take action against him unless someone  _ can  _ observe severe wrongdoing. Should we be mistaken, no one need know we were ever there.” 

 

“I agree with Charlotte,” said Gabriel, to Tessa’s great surprise. Hums of agreement sounded around the table. “But I have a concern. Herondale and the warlock girl go into the house, endure De Quincey’s party until they observe some contravention of the Law, and then signal the rest of us - how, exactly?” 

 

“With one of Henry’s inventions,” said Charlotte. There was a slight tremor in her voice as she said it, but she stood firm. “The Phosphor. It will send up a bright flare of light, visible from the windows.” 

 

“I think not,” said a man with very close-cropped blond hair and an unusually large panther daemon. “The last time Henry offered us one of his ‘inventions’-” 

 

He was cut off by a babble of assent and complaint, everyone sharing stories of some mishap they could pin on Henry. Charlotte tried to speak, only to be drowned out. 

 

“Bastards, talking over her like that,” muttered Will, scowling darkly down at them.

 

“Where  _ is _ Henry, Charlotte?” asked Benedict Lightwood, with a nasty sort of look in his eye. Charlotte’s fist clenched tighter behind her back. “As one of the Institute heads, surely he should be here.” 

 

As if to answer his question, the door to the storage room slammed open. The three of them jumped, all trying to cover the window at once, which caused Jem to stumble into Tessa’s knees and Tessa’s hand to land squarely on Will’s chest, making him yelp. They spun around to see Henry himself, wild-haired and wild-eyed in the doorway. He was clutching the same copper tube in his hand. 

 

Will eyed it fearfully from behind Jem’s shoulder. “Keep that damned object away from me.” 

 

Henry stared at them all in confusion. “Hell,” he said. “I was looking for the library. The Enclave -” 

 

“We know,” said Jem. “Charlotte is waiting for you, Henry.” 

 

“I know,” he nearly wailed. The monkey ground her teeth in frustration. “I just wanted to make sure I had it right-” 

 

“Henry,” Jem said steadily. “Charlotte  _ needs  _ you.” 

 

“Right.” Henry turned to leave, then swung back around and stared at them, as if he only then stopped to wonder why Will, Tessa, and Jem were huddled and mostly entangled in a disused storage room. “What are you three…” his voice trailed off, as though he wasn’t sure he wanted to know the answer.

 

Tessa’s face went scarlet. Jem wore a neutral expression, but even he had a touch of pink in his cheeks, and Kasimela curled up behind him. Will, on the other hand, just smiled beatifically up at Henry. 

 

“Charades,” he said. “Massive game.” 

 

“Ah. Right then,” said Henry, and hurried out the door. 

 

“Charades,” muttered Tessa, wriggling out of their pile of limbs and trying to peer through the window again. Will shrugged, but stayed quiet, as someone was speaking again. 

 

“Really, Charlotte. When will you admit that you’re running this place on your own? Perhaps with some help from James and William, but with their situations, how much help can they be?” 

 

Charlotte looked lost for words for a moment, but when Benedict smiled a snakelike smile, she found her voice. “I was appointed head of this Institute, along with my husband, seven years ago,” she said. “If there are faults in how I run it, you may take them up with the Consul. Until then, I shall run it as I see fit.” 

 

“I hope that means plans like these are still up for a vote,” said Benedict. “Or are you running an autocracy?” 

 

“Don’t be ridiculous,” said the man with the panther daemon. “Of course it’s up for a vote. All in favor of moving on De Quincey?” 

 

A chorus of ‘aye’s ran around the table, and, to Tessa’s startlement, not a single ‘nay’. Jem caught her expression and smiled. “They like to jockey for power,” he said, “but no one would vote ‘no’ on something like this. They’d be labeled a coward.” 

 

“Very well,” said Benedict, below them. “Tomorrow night, then -” 

 

The door to the library slammed open, and Henry charged in. “I’m here!” he announced. “Not too late, am I?” 

 

Charlotte put her head into her hands. Benedict glanced over at the both of them. “Ah, Henry,” he said. “Charlotte was just briefing us on your newest invention.”  

 

“Yes!” Henry held it up proudly. “And I can guarantee it works as advertised. See?” 

 

“There’s no need for a demonstration,” someone said hastily, but it was too late. The button had been pressed. There was a bright flash, and the lights in the library went out, leaving the three above staring at a black square in the floor. Gasps rose up from below, someone shrieked, and something crashed to the ground. Above it all rose Benedict Lightwood’s voice, swearing fluently.

 

Will looked up and grinned at them both. “Bit embarrassing for Henry, of course,” he said. “And yet, somehow quite satisfying, don’t you think?” 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Long chapter. Nice.
> 
> It occurred to me while writing this that since Chalivan can become a duck, a whole new world has opened.


	8. Of Every Human Life

 

It was nearly time to leave, and Chalivan was refusing to cooperate.

 

His golden wings fluttering, he flew up to her height and stared her in the eye. “I don’t want to do it,” he said flatly.

 

Tessa, despite herself, felt some relief. She knew she should have been frustrated - they were almost ready to leave, and she was Camille again, dressed in a gown the vampire had lent them, her golden curls pinned up. The only thing that held them up was Chali’s refusal to become the little green spider and take his place in her hair. 

 

Instead of annoyance, Tessa was quietly, inwardly hopeful. Perhaps she wasn’t like the Dark Sisters. Perhaps there was some room for redemption in her. 

 

She didn’t want to squash it by forcing Chali to take another daemon’s exact form, but - _this is for Nate. This is all for Nate._ _We can find Nate and help him and then -_

 

Despite herself, Charlotte’s words from earlier swam in her mind.  _ Soon it will be time to wake up. _ She shook her head sharply.

 

“Chali, if we don’t do this, we won’t find people who know about Nate,” she said, trying to make her tone firm. “It’s expected of us, and Camille knows we’ll be doing it.” 

 

Chali became a brown wolf spider, hesitantly. “It’s not right,” he said. “It’s not kind.” 

 

Tessa closed her eyes. “Please, Chali.” 

 

A moment of silence. Then he did change, becoming Camille’s little green spider. Sadly, quietly, he took his place under one of her exquisitely pinned curls - Sophie had done them with expert hands - and arranged himself. 

 

“Thank you,” Tessa whispered, and turned to Will, who was waiting near the carriage for her. 

  
  


* * *

 

The ride was a quiet one. Nerves crawled in Tessa’s stomach, and Will seemed disinclined to make conversation, Issalinde settled on his shoulders. In fact, he only spoke after Tessa had fidgeted in her seat for the fourth or fifth time in two minutes. 

 

“Calm down,” he said. “Once we’re in there, you can’t seem nervous, or look to me for instructions. I’m  _ your  _ blood-subjugate. You just keep me around for a tasty snack whenever you want it.” 

 

Unsurprisingly, this did not help Tessa’s anxious fidgeting. She sighed, and his expression softened a bit. 

 

“Tess,” he said, and she felt a momentary jolt of surprise - when had he started calling her that? “You don’t need to do this if you don’t want to.” 

 

She took a breath she didn’t need. “And then what? We turn the carriage around and just go home?” 

 

He fixed her with a steady stare, then offered her a hand. “All for one and one for all,” he said. 

 

Tessa managed a weak smile, and then Thomas was tapping on the carriage roof, calling “We’re here,” in a low voice, and any thought she’d had of backing out was gone. 

 

They had pulled up before a large, white townhouse. Its door was ajar, letting soft candlelight shine out. Tessa felt an odd surge of anticipation - not hers, but Camille’s.  _ There you are. Where were you?  _

 

Camille had no reply to that, but Tessa felt her in the way she stood taller, the way she glanced down haughtily as she and Will began to climb the steps. “You will address me not as Tessa, but as a servant would,” she allowed Camille to say, through her mouth. “Now come.” 

 

Will gave her a startled look of approval, and followed her through the door. The doorman, pale and faded-looking, bowed to her. “Your Ladyship,” he murmured, and Tessa was about to introduce Will to him when Camille’s voice spoke in her mind again.  _ We do not introduce our pets to each other. They are property, nameless unless we choose to give them names. _

 

_ Ugh, _ Tessa thought. The idea curdled with the nerves in her stomach, but she didn’t let it show, as the footman guided her down a corridor and into a large room, marble-floored and lit only by candles. Many people moved through it, their motions liquid and strange, their eyes jewel-bright. Some looked more human than others. Many wore fashions of bygone eras - skirts reminiscent of Marie Antoinette’s, or knee breeches and cravats. A few true humans wandered the edges, holding trays of small, knifelike instruments and crystal glasses. 

 

Even as Tessa watched, a heavily powdered, heavily rouged vampire woman beckoned one to her side with a snap of her fingers. The human - a dark-haired, pale girl - did as she was told, turning her head to the side as the vampire selected one of the sharp instruments and tapped it to the side of the girl’s neck. 

 

Blood spilled up and over, and the vampire woman caught it in a crystal wineglass. The girl shook, but did not drop the tray, and did not move away until the glass was full. Her daemon, a rabbit, trembled at her feet as she was bled. 

 

Tessa turned away, fighting to keep a neutral expression. “Don’t run off, William,” she muttered, with a telling look across the room at them. “We don’t want you getting lost in the crowd.” 

 

“So hard to train, aren’t they?” said an unfamiliar voice. It belonged to a thin, towheaded man with aristocratic features and cold, calculating eyes. His daemon, as well, was hidden - a black-and-orange salamander lurked under his high collar. He bent to kiss her hand. “It is good to see you, Lady Belcourt.” 

 

_ This is De Quincey,  _ said Camille. As she spoke, Tessa saw flashes of her memories. Dancing with him with her hands on his shoulders, standing in the dark by a river as he fed on something sprawled and pale in the grass, sitting at a long table as he slammed his fist down, shouting about something she would live to regret. Sitting alone in a room, and weeping, and De Quincey coming in to comfort her, though he had been the one to cause her pain. 

 

They had been friends, once, she understood. And he believed they still were. As he straightened up, she smiled at him. “Indeed, Alexei.” 

 

“A pretty new thing,” De Quincey said, releasing her hand and running a slim finger down Will’s cheek. “Pleasant eyes.”   
  


“Thank you,” said Tessa, in the manner of someone being complimented on their choice of wallpaper. 

 

His hand trailed over Will’s jaw, which was clenched tight. “You wouldn’t mind, Camille, would you, if I -” 

 

More images cascaded before her eyes. De Quincey’s shirt red with blood, and a body hanging upside down from a tree over a dark river, fingers dangling in the water. Her hand whipped out to catch his wrist. “My darling, no,” she said, a wheedling tone in her voice. “I’ve only just gotten him, and I’d like to keep him to myself another year yet. You know how your appetite can run away with you sometimes.” 

 

De Quincey chuckled, though she saw a flash of displeasure in his eyes. “For you, Camille, I will exercise restraint.” He sighed wistfully. “I’m afraid I must see to my other guests. But you will be at the ceremony?” 

 

“Of course.” 

 

He leaned forward - Tessa stiffened - but he merely kissed both her cheeks in an odd, impersonal way before turning and vanishing back into the crowd. Tessa let her breath out in a rush. 

 

“Don’t,” said Will, his voice tight but nearly silent. “You don’t need to breathe.” 

“My god, Will,” she whispered, noticing that Issalinde was trembling beside them - with fear or rage, Tessa wasn’t sure. “He would have bitten you.” 

 

“I would have killed him first.” 

 

“And then,” someone said from behind them, “you would both be dead.” 

 

Tessa whirled around. A man had appeared behind them, as soundlessly as if he had materialized out of smoke. He wore a long brocade coat, of which his black hair nearly brushed the shoulders. His skin was a dark brown she had rarely seen before, his daemon a tiny…  _ dragon? _

 

She blinked several times. Children’s daemons had been known to take on forms like that, but she had never heard of an  _ adult  _ with a mythical daemon. Although, she supposed, Chali could be a dragon if he wanted... and that was what made her realize who this must be, even before she looked into his eyes and found them to be yellowy-green, without whites, and marked only with vertical slits. 

 

Warlocks had marks, the marks of Lilith. Warlocks’ daemons didn’t settle. 

 

“This is Magnus,” said Will under his breath, confirming her suspicion. “Magnus Bane.”

 

“My darling Camille,” said Magnus at a more typical volume, bending to kiss her hand. The moment he touched her, Camille’s memories rushed up in a flood - Magnus holding her, laughing with her, kissing her. As well as touching her in a distinctly personal manner. Tessa pulled her hand back with a squeak. 

 

_ That was not helpful, Camille, _ she thought mutinously. Magnus, meanwhile, looked fascinated. “I see,” he said, amusement dancing in his cat’s eyes. Unlike Will’s amusement, which always seemed to cover for some deep sadness, his seemed warm and kind. “There’s a room in which we can talk.” 

 

Magnus led her across the room, her hand delicately held in his. On Camille’s instructions, she held her head high and met no one’s eyes, simply allowing herself to be pulled to a small door which led to an unused library. Will followed them in, closing and locking the door, as Tessa looked around. Dust coated the shelves and the table, as well as the heavy curtains drawn across the window. 

 

Magnus cast a glance towards the fireplace, and suddenly a fire was roaring in it, an odd-colored blue flame that smelled strong, like incense. Tessa jumped a bit, making Magnus grin as he hopped up onto the table, laying down on one arm. 

 

“Never seen someone use magic before? I find that hard to believe, considering what you can do.” When she didn’t answer, he went on, “I saw your expression when I kissed your hand. You know what Camille knows. There are some warlocks who can shape-shift, in limited ways, but none who have that particular skill.” 

 

Finding her voice, Tessa moved nearer to the fire. “Charlotte isn’t certain I am a warlock.” 

 

“Oh, you’re a warlock,” he said, the miniature dragon flapping over to her and staring her in the eyes. It was highly unnerving. “Count on it. Just because you don’t have bat ears-” he saw Tessa frown, and raised an eyebrow. “Oh, you don’t  _ want _ to be a warlock?” 

 

“I just never thought,” said Tessa, “that I was anything but human.” 

 

“Poor you,” said Magnus, but there was something sympathetic in his tone. “Now you know the truth, you can’t ever go back.” 

 

Will scowled at this, but still didn’t speak, instead going to a desk in the corner and rifling through it with Issalinde’s help.

 

Chali, on the other hand, had emerged from under a curl, and was trying to become a dragon. He only managed a lizard before Magnus whistled sharply and he returned to his spot in the shape of a spider. 

 

“Casimir, enough.” The dragon laughed a low, melodic laugh before returning to Magnus’ side. 

 

_ Casimir. _ Magnus’ daemon was male. Of all the things Tessa had learned about him, this didn’t seem the most surprising, though she knew what Aunt Harriet had said about those who had daemons of the same sex. She blurted out, without thinking. “But. You and Camille? You’re-” 

 

“We’re?” 

 

“He’s -” she gestured to Casimir, making Magnus laugh again. 

 

“Old thoughts and old prejudices, Miss Tessa Gray. It’s not the be-all and end-all you assume it to be.” Another few chuckles. “If you looked more closely at some of those around you, you might have seen that already. And I do prefer men in some cases, I merely consider myself… flexible. A freewheeling bisexual, if you will.” 

 

Tessa was unsure what exactly those words meant, but was uncomfortable enough with this topic of conversation that she was willing to drop it, moving to the desk to help Will search. He offered her a half-smile. 

 

“Magnus,” he said after a moment, “People were staring at us earlier.” 

 

“That was because of you,” said Magnus, rolling over on the table to face them both. “You don’t stare at her with blind adoration like a good human subjugate.” 

 

“It’s the hair with the spider,” said Will. “And the pointy teeth. Puts me off.” 

 

Tessa thought back to laughing with Will and Jem in a very different library.  _ Camille, what sharp teeth you have _ . When she found Nate, she realized with a sharp sadness, she would move out of the Institute. She might never see them again. 

 

Magnus was talking again, seemingly in response to a question of Will’s. It drew her out of her thoughts. “I wouldn’t come here. I despise De Quincey. But for Camille not to attend at least a few would be construed as an insult. It’s politics, primarily.” 

 

“Then why don’t you -” Will broke off. “Wait, I’ve found something.” He hurried over to the table, laying out a long scroll of parchment. On it were several diagrams, long paragraphs in an indecipherable language, as well as a sketch that, to Tessa’s startled horror, depicted the table of bodies in the cellar of the Dark House. 

 

“It’s instructions,” said Will. “For building an automaton.” 

 

Magnus frowned. “Humans are fascinated with the things,” he muttered. “Have either of you ever read the  _ Book of Knowledge of Ingenious Mechanical Devices _ ?” 

 

“Never even heard of it,” said Will. “Are there any bleak moors surrounded by mists? Ghostly brides? Ruined castles? Dashing young men rushing to the rescue of penniless maidens?” 

 

“No,” said Magnus. “There’s a racy bit about cogs halfway through, but the rest of it is rather dry.” He frowned pensively. “It was written by an Arabic scholar a few centuries before Da Vinci, and it described how to make a machine that would mimic a human being. But this spell -” He brushed one finger along the edge of the parchment - “is a binding spell. Something that would… infuse energy, I suppose, into a demonic object. That, combined with an automaton, could be disastrous.” 

 

A silence. Casimir shifted into a cat with eyes that matched Magnus’, his tail bushy. Finally, Will rolled up the parchment. “Thank you, Magnus.” He looked thoughtful, alert, but didn’t elaborate. Instead, he changed the subject. “Have you ever seen De Quincey break the Law?” 

 

Magnus gave him a sharp look. “Once. As it turned out…” He shook his head. “Well. Let me show you.” He slid off the table and walked to the window, lifting the curtain. Instead of leading outside as Tessa had expected, it looked down into a sort of music room. Rows of elegant chairs were lined up against one wall. In front of them, facing them, the floor was slightly raised. There was only one chair, there, one that was manacled to the floor and stained with red. Magnus looked grim. “They bring their human in and take turns feeding from them until they are weak and afraid, draining them slowly as the others applaud.” 

 

Will’s lip curled. “And they… enjoy that? Pain and fear?” 

 

“These,” said Magnus, “are the worst of them. Not all Night Children are like this, William.” 

 

Will ignored this. “Where do they find the victims?” 

 

“Criminals. Drunkards. Addicts, whores. People who will not be missed, who can slip through the cracks.” He looked squarely at Will. “What is your plan?” 

 

“Once we see any of them move to harm a human, I summon the Enclave,” said Will. 

 

“And how will they get in?” 

 

“They will,” was the only response. “At that point, you need to take Tessa and get out of here.” 

 

“Seems a waste of my talents,” said Magnus. “Would I not stay and fight?” 

 

“This is a Nephilim issue.” Will looked just as steadily back. “We uphold the Law. You’ve helped us immensely, but we will handle it.” 

 

Magnus looked at Tessa over Will’s shoulder. He looked wry. “The proud isolation of the Nephilim, yes. They have use for you when they have use for you, but will never share a victory.” 

 

Tessa was more concerned with the earlier statements. “You’re sending me  _ away _ ?” 

 

“We must. Camille can’t be seen cooperating with Shadowhunters.” 

 

“That’s nonsense and you know it. They’ll know she brought you here!” Camille laughed in the back of her head, and, for a moment, reached for her voice. Tessa didn’t fight her, and the words that spilled from her lips were accented in Camille’s odd tone. 

 

“I do not expect,” Camille said through Tessa, “that any who are here tonight will survive the evening to accuse me.” 

 

Magnus and Will stared at her in confused awe for a moment, before Will spoke. 

 

“The dead can tell no tales,” he said softly. 

 

* * *

 

The music room was nearly full. Tessa, arm in arm with Magnus, watched as the vampires turned to glance at Will every so often, their quiet murmurs inaudible. 

 

“They’re still staring,” she whispered. 

 

“Of course,” said Magnus. “Look at him. The face of a bad angel and eyes like the night sky in hell. He’s very pretty, and vampires like that.” He shrugged. “I don’t mind it either. Black hair and blue eyes are my favorite combination.” 

 

Will preened. Or, he would have, if it had been a normal situation. Now, he only managed a slight smirk, his eyes fixed on the room around them.

 

Tessa touched Camille’s blond curls, and Magnus laughed again. “Nobody’s perfect.” 

 

The murmuring was increasing in volume. Someone had brought a young man forward onto the makeshift stage. His face was hooded, but his thin limbs looked oddly familiar. His daemon was held in a wire cage, similar to the one the Dark Sisters had kept Chali in, but it was covered with a dark cloth. He thrashed weakly as his captor chained him to the chair and stepped back. 

  
De Quincey stepped forward from the crowd with a smile. His fangs were out, and they gleamed in the candlelight. “This man has betrayed the Night Children,” he said, and the vampires leaned forward, restless.  _ Hungry _ . They no longer resembled human aristocracy, Tessa thought - now they were more like hunters. Their eyes were open, teeth growing. 

 

“When can you summon the Enclave?” Tessa hissed to Will. 

 

His voice was strained, his jaw clenched furiously. “Not before he draws blood. We must see him do it.” 

 

“Will-” 

 

“Tess. Be quiet.” 

 

Reluctantly, she turned her attention back to the stage. De Quincey was approaching the prisoner in the chair. His hand reached out, feather light, and brushed the man’s neck, making him convulse. 

 

There was a flash of silver. Blood bubbled up at his throat. The prisoner screamed, and his voice was familiar - too familiar. 

 

“Will,” Tessa murmured, frozen. “Will,  _ please _ .” 

 

Will glanced at Magnus. “Both of you, you should get out of here.” 

 

Tessa whirled on him. “No! No, I’m all right here -” 

 

Their voices had risen, but not a single inhabitant of the room paid them any attention. All their energy was focused on the man in the chair and the blood running down his chest. 

 

Magnus took her arm. “Come with me.” She found herself rising to her feet, looking back at Will every few steps. His hand was in his waistcoat pocket, and as she watched, he produced a copper tube. The Phosphor.

 

Magnus swung the door open behind them, urging her to hurry, but Tessa was still looking at the stage. De Quincey had hold of the prisoner’s hood. 

 

Will rose to his feet, the Phosphor held aloft. De Quincey ripped back the cloth. 

 

The prisoner’s face was swollen and bruised. His hair was plastered to his skull. But Tessa knew him anyway, because sitting chained to the chair, bleeding out on the stage, was Nathaniel, her brother. 


	9. The Terrible Perturbations of the Suns

Tessa screamed.

 

It wasn’t a human scream - through Camille’s throat, it sounded like broken glass. She realized, after a moment, that there were words in it.

 

“Will, _now!_ Do it _now!_ ”

 

He whirled around to stare at her, Phosphor still held in one hand. Her cry had broken through the haze that seemed to fall over the vampires, and De Quincey was looking at her in startled confusion. Then his eyes alit on Will, and his mouth moved -

 

But it was too late. Will had pressed the button, and Tessa braced herself for a flare of bright witchlight.

 

It didn’t happen. Instead, the flames of the candelabras all roared towards the ceiling, making a wave of heat roll over the room. Confused shouts went up, but then one tongue of flame touched the heavy curtains in the window, and they caught as if they were far lighter than they were. Suddenly, the room was full of billowing black smoke and high-pitched, breaking-glass screams.

 

Tessa tried to dart forward, towards the stage, but Magnus had her by the wrist. “Miss Gray,” he said, and only redoubled his grip when she tried to get away. “ _No_. In this body, you’ll go up like kindling wood -”

 

As if to illustrate his point, a spark caught one of the ladies’ aristocratic wigs. The vampire screamed, trying to bat it off, but the moment her hands came in contact with the fire, they too caught as if they were paper and not flesh. In no more than a second, her arms were burning like torches, and in another moment, there was nothing but a pillar of fire, within which a blackened figure was howling.

 

Tessa flinched away, but didn’t stop struggling in Magnus’ grip. “Let me go, let me go-” De Quincey had leapt into the chaos, and Nate was alone on the stage. “That’s my _brother!_ ”

 

Magnus stared at her in confusion, and she took advantage of this, wrenching free and running. It was bedlam - everyone trying to escape, veering for different doors and windows. She veered to avoid one, and ran headfirst into one of the vampires who had stared at Will earlier. She plunged towards Tessa, then stumbled, her mouth opening in a scream. Blood poured from it as from a fountain, and her face crumpled, as she sunk to the ground, dissolving. In another second, she was a pile of dust atop a blue satin dress.

 

Tessa gagged, and tore her eyes away, only to spot Will, directly in front of her, holding the knife he’d just used to kill the vampire.

 

“What the _hell_ are you still doing here?” He shouted over the din. “You -”

 

Tessa heard the sound before he did - a high-pitched, broken wailing. The dark-haired girl that Tessa had seen someone drink from earlier charged Will, a broken chair leg held in one shaking hand, her face smeared with tears and blood.

 

“Will, look out!” Tessa shouted, and Will spun with the knife in his hand, and then the girl was lying on the ground, the silver blade protruding from her chest. Blood welled up around it, thicker and darker than the vampire blood. Her rabbit daemon looked up, once, whimpered, and vanished.

 

Will’s face was ashen. “I thought…”

 

“She would have killed you,” said Tessa, but he just shook his head sharply as if to clear it.

 

“I thought I told you to go.”

 

“That’s my brother up there,” said Tessa, pointing to where Nate was unconscious in the chair, slumped over. Will stared, struck silent for a moment.

 

“How in the _fuck -_ ” he started, only to be interrupted by the sound of breaking glass. The windows burst inwards, and the room was suddenly full of Nephilim in their dark fighting gear, driving before them a group of vampires who had fled into the garden. More and more were flooding in from other doors, like dogs herding sheep into a pen. De Quincey staggered at their center, his face streaked with ash, his teeth bared.

 

Henry was there, Tessa saw, and Charlotte, dressed like a man in the same black shirt and trousers. Gabriel and Benedict Lightwood. The man with the panther daemon. And then there was Jem, looking paler than ever in the gear, runes standing out against his skin.

 

Will exhaled sharply. “I wasn’t sure they’d come, without the Phosphor.” He strode off towards them, and Tessa took the chance to run towards Nathaniel. He didn’t stir as she approached and tried to remove his chains, and meanwhile, De Quincey was speaking.

 

“We surrender,” he said, weary. “We surrender to you, and your Law protects us.”

 

“You have broken our Law,” snarled Benedict Lightwood. “Its protection doesn’t apply to you.”

 

“One human,” said De Quincey. “You would shatter our alliance over one human, who has also broken the Law -”

 

Charlotte looked at him with disdain. “He cannot be expected to follow the Laws of a world he doesn’t know. We are more concerned with you, and your ‘alliance’ with us has been a sham.”

 

De Quincey looked old, suddenly, as old as he surely was. “And is it against the Law to dislike Nephilim, now?” he murmured, his voice ragged.

 

“Don’t play your games with us,” spat Benedict. “After all we’ve done for your kind, all we’ve done to make you equal-”

 

“ _Equal?_ ” This, at least, seemed to rouse him. “You don’t know the meaning of the word. You cannot let go of your own superiority. If we are equal, where then are our seats on your Council? Our say in these laws you make regarding us?”

 

Charlotte blanched. It was clear, Tessa thought, still struggling with Nate’s chains, that she hadn’t considered it. Magnus, as well, gave her a sharp look, and Tessa remembered what he had said before. _They cannot bring themselves to share a victory with Downworlders_.

 

“Irrelevant,” said Benedict, before she could speak. “None of this excuses your behavior, De Quincey. If you do not surrender yourself and tell us what we wish to know-”

 

De Quincey rushed Benedict, and the room exploded into chaos once more.

 

Tessa, realizing she was running out of time, gave up on breaking Nate’s bonds and set to work on the cage holding Faela. The gray squirrel was curled on the metal floor, breathing rapidly, scarcely conscious. “Hello, Faela,” Tessa said, as soothingly as she could. “It’s all right, shh, it’s me. It’s going to be all right.” Chali crawled down her arm and through the bars. When she flinched, he crawled back out, taking his goldfinch form. Tessa had nearly forgotten that Faela wouldn’t recognize Chalivan, and the thought pierced her.

 

Fortunately, this cage was easier to break than the one the Dark Sisters had owned, and Tessa had all of Camille’s strength. She wrenched the bars open, and Faela stumbled to Nate’s side, curling up under his arm.

 

“Help him,” she said weakly, staring at Tessa. She had only spoken in front of her perhaps ten times before, and never directly to her.

 

“I promise,” said Tessa, tears welling up in her eyes. The noise of battle rushed around her, but she tuned it out, searching desperately for some mechanism on the chair to release the chains.

 

Then something seized her by the back of the dress, flinging her backwards. She crashed off the raised stage, into one of the other forgotten chairs, and looked up with a shout of pain.

 

De Quincey stood over her, wild-eyed, his clothes torn. “ _Bitch,_ ” he spat, quaking with fury. He didn’t even seem to notice that Chali was a goldfinch again. “Lying, traitorous - _you_ brought that Nephilim here.” Tessa scrambled backwards, but he stalked after her. “I welcomed you back, even after your interlude with the lycanthrope. I tolerate that ridiculous warlock of yours. And this is how you repay me? You have _killed_ us.”

 

Laughter bubbled up in Tessa’s throat, but it wasn’t hers. She doubted she could fight this echo of Camille now, even if she tried.

 

“ _Interlude_ ,” she said, rising to her feet. “Interlude. You killed him just to prove you could. It’s your turn, Alexei. I want you to know what it is to lose that which even your dead heart holds dear. I want you to know, as your home burns, as your friends’ ashes pile around you, that it is I, your Camille. _I am the one who is doing this to you_.”

 

De Quincey took a step back. Tessa thought, a little hysterically, that it was likely no one had ever spoken to him like that.

 

“Perhaps,” he said, after a long pause. “Perhaps I underestimated you. Perhaps you will destroy me.” He advanced on her, his arms stretching out. “But I will take you with me-”

 

Tessa threw a chair at him. She wasn’t sure how, or where the idea had come from, but Camille’s strength ran through her, and she stumbled back in shock, unbalanced. Though he staggered when the wood hit his back, he was on her in the next moment, eyes unhinged, face contorted. She screamed, lashing out with nails, feet, anything - and then he yelled.

 

A hand had caught him by the hair. A marked hand, Will’s hand. Tessa struggled upright as Will wrestled with De Quincey, finally flinging him away as he staggered, then spat at Will’s feet.

 

“ _Nephilim_ ,” he said.

 

Will drew a pistol from his belt and aimed it at De Quincey without a word, but the vampire only laughed. “You cannot kill me with that toy.”

 

“I can if the bullet goes through your heart,” said Will. “And I am a very good shot.”

 

A silence. Then De Quincey shot forward. The gun went off, but the bullet flew wide, and it fell to the floor. Tessa snatched it up, only to see that De Quincey had Will from the back, his forearm digging into his throat. There was a moment of frozen stillness.

 

Then Will ducked his head and sank his teeth into his arm. De Quincey yelled and jerked away, as Will flung himself to the side, blood smeared across the lower half of his face. He grinned, actually _grinned_ , and spat a stream of red.

 

“How do you like it, vampire?” he asked. “Now you know what it’s like, being chewed on.” He spread his arms wide. With his smile, and the blood dripping from his mouth, he barely looked human himself. “Come and get me, come on.”

 

De Quincey gathered himself to spring. Tessa pulled the trigger.

 

The gun kicked back, hard, and De Quincey fell sideways, blood streaming from his shoulder - _damn it -_ only to stagger to his feet. With one last look at Camille, he darted out the window, vanishing into the night.

 

Will jumped forward. “We can’t lose him -”

 

But another vampire had seized Will before he could take so much as a step. Mind cold with the shock of battle, Tessa aimed the pistol again, but what if she hit _Will_ ? She had never touched a gun in her life before tonight. Will was struggling furiously, but couldn’t get a good angle to strike, and she had to do _something_ -

 

But then the vampire collapsed into dust, blood pouring from its mouth. Jem stood behind it when the air cleared, breathing hard, clutching a… sword? No, Tessa realized, it was a _cane_ , a cane with a dragon’s head, from the end of which sprung a silver blade.

 

As her mind whirled uselessly, Jem pulled Will to his feet. Kasimela was frantically nosing at Issalinde, and for once, Jem seemed to be doing the same, examining Will for injuries with worried hands. When he finally seemed satisfied, he turned to Tessa. He looked relieved to see her unhurt as well, though he spared her the frantic once-over, for which she was grateful. She was barely holding on to her composure as it was, and she wasn’t certain that if Jem touched her, she wouldn’t collapse crying in his arms.   
  
Jem wouldn’t judge her for it, she knew. But she needed to be strong. Strong for Nate, her brother. It wasn’t the time for hysteria.

 

Will smiled a bloody smile, though he too looked shaken.

 

“Nice one,” he said.

 

“You bit De Quincey,” said Jem.

 

“I had no choice. He was choking me.”

 

“I know,” said Jem, gentle as ever. “But really, Will. _Again_?”

 

* * *

 

It was Henry who finally figured out the mechanism on the chains and freed the man - Tessa’s brother, Will thought, though he had missed exactly how this long-sought brother had come to be there at the absolute worst time.

 

Tessa, back to herself, was leaning on Charlotte for comfort as they helped carry him to a carriage. Bringing Nathaniel back to the Institute for treatment was the highest priority. He heard, distantly, Benedict ordering people to search the house, but Charlotte had insisted he return to the Institute with Jem quickly, as soon as he could find a carriage. He had swallowed vampire blood, and now he had to pay the price of a miserable night.

 

Thomas had a carriage. That wasn’t an issue. It was only that Thomas wouldn’t allow Will into the carriage until he wiped off some of the blood.

 

Will sulked, more on the principle of the thing than out of any real bitterness, as he scrubbed at his face and arms. Jem was covered in vampire dust, but Thomas allowed _him_ in his nice neat carriage. And it was sulk, or let his thoughts catch up with him, and Will knew which option he preferred.

 

In fact, he was so busy sulking that he didn’t notice Gabriel’s arrival. He had sauntered up, watching him like Issalinde when she chased dust.

 

“Nice work in there, setting fire to the place,” he said with a superior little smile. Will despised him. “Luckily the rest of us were here to save the shreds of your reputation.”

 

“Are you implying that the shreds of my reputation are still _intact_? That won’t do at all.” Will leaned back to look up at Thomas, in the driver’s bench in front of the carriage. “Thomas, we must away at once to the nearest brothel! I seek scandal and low companionship.” Thomas, the disloyal bastard, just laughed at him.

 

Gabriel’s face darkened. “Is there anything that isn’t a joke to you?”

 

“Nothing comes to mind.” He scrubbed harder at his face.

 

“There was a time I thought we could be friends, William.”

 

“There was a time I thought I was marrying a ferret, but that turned out to be the opium haze.” Baiting Gabriel, it turned out, was a bit of a balm for his mood. Will was not surprised by this, but he welcomed it anyway.

 

“I think,” said Gabriel tightly, “that jokes about opium are hardly in good taste, given the… _situation_ of your parabatai.”

 

Will went very still. Then he met Gabriel’s eyes. “You mean,” he said, “his… ‘disability’?” Scorn rolled off his voice without any effort, now. Issalinde, he knew, was bristling at his side.

 

“What?”

 

“That’s what you called it. In the Institute. His _disability_. And you wonder why we aren’t friends.” He tossed the bloody cloth aside.

 

Gabriel, to his credit, looked somewhat more subdued. “I merely wonder,” he said, “if you ever have enough. Of behaving as you do.”

 

Will crossed his arms over his chest. “Never, Gabriel. Never. And yet, somehow I’m still three times the man you are.”

 

Jem’s hands reached out of the carriage, snatched him up by the collar, and pulled him in just as Gabriel opened his mouth to retort. A moment later, the carriage was rattling down the road, and Will was seated on the rough carriage bench, looking up at Jem’s exasperated, if somewhat amused, face.

 

“Why?” He asked, silver eyes very noticeable in the moonlight. “Why do you bait him like that? It can’t have any benefit.”

 

“You heard what he said about you -”

 

“I don’t care what he says about me. It’s what most of them think, he just has the courage to say it.” Jem rested his chin on his hand, sighing a bit. “I can’t function as your missing sense of self-preservation forever. Soon you’ll have to learn to manage without me.”

 

Will, as he always did when Jem talked like that, ignored it.

 

Jem brushed a bit of dried blood off his cheek, and Will leaned into his hand. He didn’t seem annoyed, despite Will’s various foolish behaviors. Jem never seemed annoyed -  the most extreme negative reaction Will had ever provoked in him was mild exasperation. And that wasn’t even on purpose, usually.

 

His thoughts were interrupted when Jem spoke again. “What happened in there?”

 

“Henry’s bloody Phosphor didn’t work. It set the curtains on fire.”

 

Jem made a choked noise. Will glared at him. “It’s not funny! I wasn’t sure if you were coming or not.”

 

“We would hardly leave you in there when flames started coming out the windows,” said Jem, reasonable as ever.

 

“And Tessa, the silly creature, was supposed to be out the door with Magnus, but she wouldn’t _leave_ -”

 

“Her brother was manacled to a chair in the room,” Jem pointed out.

 

Will tried to maintain righteous frustration, but failed. Issalinde knew it, because she and Mela both made contented noises at him. He was surrounded by betrayal on all sides. “I see you’re determined to miss my point.”

 

“If your point was that there was a pretty girl in the room and it was distracting you, I think I’ve taken your point handily.”

 

Will blinked. Jem rarely mentioned things like that. They both knew that this _thing_ they had was best not spoken of to anyone besides each other. And Will had drunkenly kissed girls and boys in taverns many times - but none of them _meant_ anything.

 

Tessa, he knew, would _mean_ something. To both of them. And that was not something that could happen, for Tessa’s own safety.

 

Tessa, however, _was_ very pretty. Distractingly pretty, even, and something about the way she laughed made Will feel simultaneously warm and content and like he’d just fallen off a roof.

 

“You think she’s pretty?” he asked, to stall for time. He already knew Jem found her pretty. Oh, they were both in for it now.

 

“Yes, and you do too.”

 

“I hadn’t noticed, really.”

 

“Yes you have, and I’ve noticed you noticing.” Jem was amused. Despite the physical stress of battle, he looked healthy tonight. His eyes were a dark and steady silver. During the worst times, the color drained even from his irises, leaving them horribly pale, the pupils like specks of ash on snow. Will had held Jem close, many times, as he thrashed and cried out deliriously in Mandarin, for his mother, his father, and each time Will had thought that this was it, Jem really was going to die this time. He sometimes thought about what he’d do afterward, but he couldn’t imagine it. It didn’t bear thinking about for very long.

 

But there were times like this, where Jem seemed healthy, and Will almost let himself imagine a future in which Jem was not ill, in which life went on like this forever, and that filled him with terror. He could not be responsible for Jem’s death. He could _not_. He had killed enough, people he loved and people he hated and people he didn’t even know.

 

The girl at the party…

 

Jem reached for his hand. “You haven’t heard a single word I’ve said in the past five minutes. What is it?” Mela nuzzled his other palm, and Will closed his eyes for a moment.

 

The first time she had done this, the sensation had been frightening, exhilarating. It still was, in some ways, but now it was also a comfort, to _know_. This was Jem, and he was Will. Their souls were as one.

 

“A darkling girl charged me at the party,” he said. “I killed her. Without even thinking about it. She didn’t even know what she was doing, but I killed her.” Issalinde lay her head on Jem’s side, but Jem only looked at Will, his silver eyes sad.

 

He didn’t say it was all right. Or that she was enslaved, and would have died soon anyway. That killing her was a mercy.  

 

“I know,” was all Jem Carstairs said, and Will leaned into his embrace and wept, because he did.

  
  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The chapter in which everyone either needs Jem to comfort them or is on fire. 
> 
> Also I feel like Will and Tessa and Will and Jem have had a lot more attention than Jem and Tessa but that's the way it is in canon until the second book as well... ah well, maybe I'll put some more in. I like to keep my ship balanced.
> 
> And also confirm the Heronstairs more explicitly than in canon.


	10. The Old, Old Urge

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Slight emetophobia warning for this chapter (very slight, he's only coughing up blood and water, but it could still be upsetting.)

 

Tessa was dazed. Beyond dazed. She half-leaned on Charlotte as Henry carried Nate in, Chali completely giving up and riding on Raimond’s back. 

 

The next thing she knew, Sophie was supporting her with a sturdy arm around her waist, and lowering her into a chair as Henry and Charlotte lay Nate down in the bed in one of the empty rooms. They were talking, saying something about Silent Brothers, but she couldn’t focus on them, and then they were gone and she was alone in the room with her brother. 

 

He was so pale, still covered in dried blood and bruises. His unconscious face didn’t look like the same boy who had danced around the room with his sister on the tops of his shoes, laughing for the sheer joy of being alive. Tessa caught a glimpse of herself in a mirror across the room - in Camille’s dress but her own body, she didn’t look like the same girl who had twirled around the room with him, either. She looked lost. Haunted, even. 

 

_ Soon it will be time to wake up. _

 

Nate coughed sharply, his eyes fluttering, and suddenly Tessa was wide awake. 

 

“Nate?” 

 

He tried to push himself up on one hand, but failed, falling back onto the pillow. Faela nuzzled into his side. 

 

“I think I’m ill, Tessie,” he said, confused humor in his voice under the pain, and her throat grew tight. Her vision blurred as she seized his hand and held it. 

 

“It’s all right. You’ll be all right. They’ve sent for doctors, they -” 

 

“Who?” His eyes were glazed, but he tried to take in the room. “Who are  _ they? _ Where are we?” 

 

“This is the Institute.” Tessa was still overwhelmed with emotion. In some part of her mind, she realized, she had started to believe that she would never see her brother alive again. That part of her was dying, now, and she was overjoyed to see it go. “You’ll be safe here.” 

 

“Nephilim,” he murmured, “I didn’t think - The Magister.” Another attempt to sit up. “Tessie, I’m sorry.” 

 

“The Magister?” She asked, but Nate had made a choking sound, and she whirled around to see that the door had opened again. Charlotte was leading the same Silent Brother - Enoch, she remembered - into the room. 

 

“Gregori,” whispered Nate, staring at him. Faela had hidden herself behind him, shaking, and Nate didn’t look much better. He grabbed at Tessa’s wrist. “He’s here to torture me, he’ll - his  _ face _ -” 

 

Charlotte ignored this, as did Brother Enoch. “If he might examine Mr. Gray,” said Charlotte, taking a step forward, but Tessa put herself between them instinctively. 

 

“No, don’t touch him, can’t you see it’s making him upset?” 

 

Charlotte paused, looking troubled, but didn’t move. “Tessa, the Silent Brothers are our best healers. Without them, I’m not sure what we can do for him.” 

 

_ Miss Gray. _ Brother Enoch’s voice spoke in her mind, as it had before.  _ It is interesting that you are a Downworlder, but your brother is not. How did such a thing come to pass? _

 

Tessa froze. “You can tell just by looking at him?” 

 

“Tessa, don’t talk to it!” Nate was still talking, but Tessa ignored him, watching the Silent Brother’s scarred face.

 

A nod.  Disappointment rose in her, making her voice sharp. “Then what am I, if you know so much? Am I a warlock?” 

 

_ There is that about you which resembles the children of Lilith. Yet you bear no mark.  _

 

Charlotte made a sound of agreement. “Some humans are born with some slight power, like the Sight. Or she could even have faerie blood -” 

 

_ She is no human, but something other, _ said Brother Enoch, and turned his pale face towards hers again.  _ There is a power that rests about you. One no other warlock can boast.  _

 

“The Change, you mean.” 

 

_ No.  _

 

No? But before she could demand an answer, Nate screamed. His voice was hoarse and weak, but he looked around the room as though seeing hundreds of assailants. Tessa whirled back to him, a stab of guilt going through her. 

 

“ _ Does he know _ ?” choked Nate, his eyes wilder than ever. “Does he know where I am?” 

 

“De Quincey?” Tessa tried to soothe him, but he grabbed at her wrist. 

 

“You must forgive me. He said you would be queen of them all. He said he would kill me. I didn’t want to die, Tessie.  _ I didn’t want to die. _ ” 

 

“Of course I forgive you,” she said, heart breaking, but he had already returned to staring wildly about the room. 

 

“Don’t let them touch me! Keep that away from me!” 

 

Brother Enoch had approached his bedside.  _ You must let me help your brother, Miss Gray, or he will likely die.  _

 

Tessa stared at him. “What do you mean? What’s wrong with him?” 

 

_ The vampires administered a drug to keep him calm while they fed. If he is not cured, it will likely drive him mad.  _

 

“It’s not my fault!” Nathaniel howled, writhing on the bed. “I had to! It wasn’t my  _ fault! _ ” Tessa saw to her horror that his eyes were pure black. 

 

“Do it,” she said, without hesitation. “Cure him. Please.” 

 

_ Leave us. Charlotte, as well. Your presence will slow his healing.  _

 

“He asked me to stay!” 

 

_ Go. _ His voice was icy in her mind. 

 

Tessa froze, giving them both a long look, and then turned and left the room, Charlotte behind her. The moment the door closed behind them, she whirled, slamming her hand into the stone wall with a furious shout. 

 

“That looked like it hurt,” said a familiar voice. Jem was waiting outside Nate’s door, having changed out of his bloody fighting clothes. A long cut on his arm was healing quickly, but he looked otherwise unhurt, if worn. 

 

“It did,” said Tessa. Charlotte looked at her with worry, but only brushed a strand of her hair back. 

 

“You should rest,” she said. “Exhausting yourself won’t help him, or you.” After a moment, she turned to Jem. “I need to talk to you. Will you walk with me to the library?” 

 

Jem nodded agreeably, and Tessa had to force herself not to shout. She didn’t want to be left here, sent to bed like a child. Exhaustion had settled into her bones by now, but she couldn’t bear the thought of sleeping when she still didn’t know what was going to happen to Nate. She didn’t even think she  _ could _ sleep, now.  

 

But Charlotte and Jem were already walking down the corridor, so she turned on her heel and walked in the opposite direction, not really going anywhere, merely walking for the sake of walking.    
  
She paced for several minutes before nearly crashing into Sophie, who was descending a rickety flight of stairs, holding… a pail of water? Apologizing, she stumbled back, but Sophie was looking livid, and didn’t even seem to notice.

 

“His Highness is in a  _ fine _ temper tonight,” she said, huffing. “Threw a pail at my head, he did.” 

 

“Who - oh. Will. Is he all right?” 

 

“Well enough to throw pails,” said Sophie, her little round-eyed daemon chittering. “And call me some nasty name. It was in French, which usually means someone’s calling you a whore.” Her lips tightened. “I’d best run and find Mr. Carstairs. Perhaps  _ he  _ can get him to take the cure, if I can’t.” 

 

“The cure?” Tessa looked into the pail, but it seemed to be ordinary water. Sophie hefted it back onto her arm.

 

“He must drink this, or I wouldn’t like to say as what would happen.” 

 

A mad impulse took hold of Tessa, and she reached for the pail. “I’ll get him to do it. Where is he?” 

 

“Upstairs in the attic, miss,” said Sophie dubiously. “But I wouldn’t if I were you. He gets downright nasty when he’s like this.” 

 

“I don’t care,” said Tessa, taking the pail. She was beyond exhaustion now, beyond being able to process anything that had happened that night, but she stalked off up the stairs without looking back. “Will Herondale needs to learn to take his medicine like a man.” 

 

* * *

 

The attic was unfurnished, merely a long landing of rough wooden boards and slanted ceilings. A few plain windows let in moonlight, and at the end of the room, an even smaller staircase led to the roof. Tessa stepped up and onto the boards, water slopping out of the pail and onto Camille’s dress. 

 

Will was laying on his back on the floor in a puddle of water and moonbeams, his eyes closed, his mouth twisted irritably. Issalinde looked forlornly at him from enough of a distance to keep her paws dry. He was muttering to himself, but the words were indiscernible. 

 

“Back, are you, Sophie?” he finally said, eyes still closed. “If you’ve brought me another one of those infernal pails, I swear I’ll -” 

 

“It’s not Sophie, it’s Tessa.” 

 

This was enough to make Will open one eye. “They sent  _ you. _ ” 

 

“Yes,” said Tessa, having no other reply to that. Will groaned, a pained sound, and rolled to a sitting position. 

 

“Oh, very well. Leave the pail and go, then.” 

 

Tessa approached carefully, as though he really was a cat, and set the pail down next to him, on the edge of the square of moonlight. Instead of leaving, though, she sat beside him. “What is it? That I’m bringing you, that is.” This close, she could see that much of the water he sat in was tinted red with blood. 

 

“Holy water,” said Will. “To burn out what’s in me.” His hair and clothes, even, were damp with the water, but he didn’t shiver. In fact, he seemed almost feverish. 

 

“You mean -” 

 

“I keep forgetting how much you don’t know.” He coughed, turning his head to the side, and spat out a mouthful of pink-tinted water. Tessa winced, remembering another night, but Will just turned back to her with a shrug. “When I bit De Quincey, I swallowed his blood. Only a gulp or two, but that’s all it takes to turn you darkling. And then you’ll be drawn back to them in the hopes they’ll make you one of them. Best to drink the water.” He looked at the pail with great distaste. “Makes you cough up the blood and burns the rest.” 

 

“Goodness,” said Tessa. “Well, you’d better drink it, then.” She ignored Issalinde looking at her sadly in favor of shoving the pail closer to him. Will scowled down at its contents, then tipped it up to drink a few gulps. He then dumped the rest of it unceremoniously over his head. 

 

“Does that help?” asked Tessa with honest curiosity. Will choked out a laugh. 

 

“The blood makes me feverish. So yes. A little.” 

 

Tessa just watched him. He sat in his damp square of moonlight, all illuminated, black curls sticking to his neck with water. Will was very pretty, which she had known from the first time she saw him. But now, she felt some great tenderness towards this man, cruel and sarcastic and  fever-hot in an attic, covered in holy water. 

 

She wanted to kiss him. She wasn’t sure she dared. 

 

“Will,” she said, and her voice sounded thin. “I wanted to know.” 

 

“Yes?” The water on his lashes made it look as though he’d been crying. Perhaps he had.

 

“You act as though you don’t care about anything. But everyone cares for  _ something... _ don’t they?” 

 

“ _ Do _ they?” He leaned back on his hands, and gestured with his chin for her to come closer. She did, sitting in front of him - they were both in the moonlight now. He looked her dead in the eyes, and Tessa felt as though she was detached, as though everything that had happened that night was happening to someone else. 

 

Will smiled, then. “You still have blood on your gloves.” 

 

It was true. Camille’s gloves were torn and bloody at the fingers where she’d wrestled with Nate’s chains. She sighed, slipping them off, but Will took her hand. 

 

“What do you want from me, Tess?” 

 

It took her a moment to gather her thoughts. “I want… I want to understand you,” she said. “I want to care for you, if you’d let me, as you let Jem.” 

 

“Care for -” Will’s eyes were wide. “Do you know what you’re asking - No. Never mind. Why would you want to understand me? Why would you want to know my reasons for living life as I do?” Issalinde had moved closer, now, and was staring at Chali with shock in her blue eyes. And, though it was hard to say, perhaps something else. 

 

“Perhaps I just want to know that there  _ is _ a reason,” said Tessa. His hand was warm on hers, and they were so close now that she could feel it when he sighed. 

 

“What would knowing change?” he asked, as if to himself. “When nothing you can do will change things, why know?” 

 

Tessa reached for an answer, but found none. She was shivering, almost too hard to speak. 

 

So instead, she leaned forward and kissed him. 

 

It was an awkward kiss, and a hesitant one, but his lips were soft. It felt right, almost as though something that had been constricting her heart had suddenly loosened, and Tessa almost smiled against Will’s mouth. 

 

Then he jumped, and pushed her away. Reeling, she jerked back, looking at him in shock. He was flushed with fever, but there was a terror in his eyes that felt like ice water on her skin. “God,” he murmured. “What was that?” 

 

Tessa stared at him. He stared back. His fists were clenched, trembling, at his sides. “I think you’d better go.” 

 

Tessa felt as if she’d expected something steady under her feet and instead been pushed out into thin air. Her voice wavered. “I- I’m sorry. I should not have been so forward.” 

 

“Tess. Please leave. Please.” 

 

She felt lost, shaken. Confused, above all. Unable to even begin to make sense of what had happened, she turned and did as she was told, Chali fluttering behind her. 

 

* * *

 

Tessa lay in her bed as the sky started to lighten, too tired to change out of Camille’s dress. Too tired, even, to sleep. 

 

Her mind couldn’t piece together all of the events of the night. It swam with thoughts of fire. Of Nate, and Camille, and Jem, and Will. Will, lying on the floor, begging her to leave. 

 

He had tasted like holy water, she thought. Holy water and blood. 

  
  


  
  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Okay but who sees someone coughing up vampire blood and thinks "I'm going to put my mouth on that"


	11. Of All the Reigns of Kings Across the Sea

 

When Tessa awoke, Sophie was lighting a lamp by her bedside. This struck her as slightly odd, and she rubbed a hand over her aching eyes. 

 

“Now then,” said Sophie, without pity. “It’s nearly eight in the evening, you’ve slept the day away. Charlotte said to wake you.” 

 

“ _ Eight in the evening? _ ” Tessa threw back the blankets, only to realize that she was still wearing Camille’s dress. It was ruined, torn and stained in a dozen places with ash and blood. She must have fallen asleep in it. 

 

Memories of the night before came back to her slowly. The pale faces of De Quincey and his clan. Magnus Bane’s casual laughter, the fire eating its way up the curtains, Nathaniel, Will on the floor in the attic. She sat up, rubbing at her head. “My brother. Is he -” 

 

Sophie hesitated. “No worse, really, but no better, either.” Seeing Tessa’s expression, she tutted. “You need some food in you, and a hot bath. It won’t do him any good to let yourself waste away in filthy clothes.” 

 

Tessa, not seeing the point in arguing, took a bath. It was probably true - she would feel better when she was clean. It was going well until halfway through, when she remembered that she had  _ kissed  _ Will, in the attic, and Will had pushed her away. Sent her out of the room as if he couldn’t bear the sight of her. Tessa considered hiding under the bathwater forever. 

 

“Drowning yourself won’t help,” said Chali, who was now an otter. She glared at him, face flaming, and resumed scrubbing away the grime without a response. 

 

Eventually, though, Tessa had to emerge from behind the screen and admit that drowning herself  _ wouldn’t _ help. She dressed quickly, pleased to feel clean again. Sophie offered to brush her hair, and she accepted, in the hope that the longer she stalled in her room, the longer it would be until she saw Will. But there was no escaping him, it seemed, since the first words out of Sophie’s mouth once she sat down were “Did you get Mr. Herondale to take his medicine?” 

 

“Oh, I-” She hesitated, reaching for the right words. None came. “He didn’t want to,” she said, a bit lamely. “But I convinced him.” 

 

“I see.” A moment of silence, punctuated only by the brushstrokes through her hair. Sophie seemed to be wrestling with herself before she spoke. “It is not my business, but Mr. Herondale is… not someone you should care for, Miss Tessa. He isn’t to be trusted, or relied upon.” 

 

Tessa folded her hands in her lap. Had things really gotten to the point where she needed to be warned off Will? “I don’t know  _ what _ he is. He’s like one thing sometimes, and then completely different, and I don’t know what’s changed.” 

 

“Nothing’s changed,” said Sophie with a huff. “He just doesn’t care about anyone but himself.” 

 

“He cares about Jem,” she said, quietly, and Sophie once again seemed to be biting her tongue. This time, though, whatever was on her mind was pushed back down. 

 

“That’s not enough,” was all she said.

 

“You mean I shouldn’t waste my time on someone who will never care for me?” 

 

“No,” was the reply, as she pulled the brush through Tessa’s hair again. “That’s all right. It’s all right to love someone who doesn’t love you back, as long as they’re  _ worth _ that love. As long as they deserve it.” Her hands were gentle as she began to pin up Tessa’s waves of hair. “As for that one, he’s got something dark inside of him. Something that will eat at him until there’s no goodness left.” 

 

* * *

 

After Sophie had gone, Tessa picked up her mother’s clockwork angel from the nightstand and put it on. She had missed it as Camille, as silly as it seemed. Its steady ticking was a comfort, nestled at her throat the way Chali did sometimes, to comfort her when she was feeling particularly vulnerable. 

 

Perhaps if she wore it to visit Nate, he would sense it and draw comfort from it as well. 

 

But when she arrived at Nate’s room, Jessamine was already seated in the chair, eyes fixed on Nathaniel’s unconscious face with a truly unnerving intensity. She met Tessa’s startled look with a cool stare. 

 

For a second, no one spoke. Then Tessa sighed. 

 

“What are you doing here?” 

 

“Ministering to Nathaniel,” said Jessamine. “Everyone’s been asleep most of the day, and he’s been neglected with no conversation.” 

 

“He’s unconscious.” Tessa was incredulous. “He doesn’t  _ want  _ conversation.” 

 

Jessamine just shrugged this off, Jascuro watching the sleeping Faela with his beady dark eyes. “Does some girl in America have a claim on him already? If not, I’ll take him.” 

 

Chali made a move as if to peck Jascuro, as if that would make Jessamine come to her senses. Tessa took a deep breath. “This is hardly the time.” 

 

“Why, am I not good enough for your precious brother?” 

 

“He doesn’t have any money, Jessie -” 

 

“I have enough for both of us,” she huffed, “I just need someone to take me  _ away _ from this godawful place, I told you that.” 

 

“In fact, you asked me to be the one to do it.” 

 

She looked up with surprise. “Is  _ that  _ what’s putting you out of temper? We can still be the closest of friends once we’re sisters-in-law, but really, it’s far less talk if I find someone to marry instead of producing a cousin from nowhere.” 

 

Tessa could find nothing to say to this, so Jessamine just shrugged. “Charlotte wants to see you, by the way. In the drawing room. Don’t worry about Nathaniel, I’ll check his temperature every hour and put cold compresses on his forehead.” 

 

Tessa doubted this, but she saw no real way to argue, and since Nate was indeed still unconscious, she simply left the room with a disgusted sigh. 

 

The door to the drawing room was closed when she reached it, but she could hear Will’s voice echoing behind it. That seemed as good a reason as any to hesitate. It was a good decision - she heard her own name, and leaned closer to listen. 

 

“This isn’t the London Hospital! Tessa’s brother shouldn’t be here.” It was Will, voice slightly raised. “He’s not even a Downworlder, just a stupid mundane who found himself mixed up in things he can’t manage.” 

 

“He can’t be treated by mundane doctors,” said Charlotte, in a quieter tone. “Be reasonable, Will.” 

 

Jem spoke next. “If you won’t keep him out of kindness like the rest of us, think of it another way. He already knows quite a bit about Downworld - he might know something about the automatons, or De Quincey, or this business about the Magister. De Quincey wanted him dead - it might have been because he knew something he shouldn’t.” 

 

A silence, as Will digested this. Then he sighed. “Have the Silent Brothers go through his mind, then. He doesn’t need to be conscious for that.”

 

“He was hallucinating,” argued Charlotte. “They won’t know what is real and what is false, not without damaging his mind, possibly permanently.” 

 

Will snorted. “I doubt it was much of a mind to begin with.” 

 

Tessa’s stomach grew cold with fury, but Jem was already speaking. “You know nothing about the man.” His tone was chilly, as angry with Will as he ever got. “I don’t know what’s driving this temper of yours, Will, but it does you no credit.” 

 

A beat of silence. Tessa was about to open the door when Charlotte’s voice could be heard again. “I know it went badly last night. I know De Quincey escaped, though we only had few casualties. But, Will -” 

 

“The only reason it went badly,” spat Will, “is because the plan hinged on one of Henry’s ridiculous inventions. Nothing he makes  _ ever  _ works. If you’d just admit that your husband’s a useless fool, we’d all be a hell of a lot better off.” 

 

“Will,” said Jem, and in his voice was the same mild, terrifying threat he had used on Gabriel. 

 

“James, don’t,” said Charlotte, sounding weary. There was a sort of thump, as if she’d sat herself down all of a sudden in a chair. “Will. Henry is a good, kind man, and he loves you.” 

 

“Don’t be maudlin, Charlotte.” 

 

“He’s known you since you were a boy, and he cares for you. As do I. All I’ve ever done is love you, Will -” 

 

“Yes,” said Will. “And I wish you wouldn’t.” 

 

Raimond made a noise, then, like a street dog who had been kicked. The sound of it set Tessa’s blood boiling, but Charlotte was speaking again. “I know you don’t mean that.” 

 

“I mean everything I say. Especially when I tell you we’re better off sifting through Nathaniel Gray’s mind sooner than later.” 

 

Tessa gave up on holding her temper. She flung the door open. 

 

Charlotte was sitting behind the large wooden desk in the drawing room, holding Raimond tightly, and Jem sat beside her. Will, on the other hand, was leaning against the fireplace mantel, looking furious, yet oddly… desperate? In Tessa’s fury, she forgot to be humiliated about the night before, storming up to him. He merely blinked. 

  
“I suppose you’ve been eavesdropping, then. Here to give us a piece of your mind about your precious brother.” 

 

Furious, Chali dive-bombed Issalinde, trying to scratch at her head and ears. She hissed, swiping at him, and Tessa glared into Will’s eyes. 

 

“At least I  _ have  _ a mind to give a piece of, which Nate won’t if you have your way,” she said, and whirled to face Charlotte. “I won’t let you do that. It would kill him.” 

 

“We won’t,” said Charlotte. She looked very small, suddenly, and very sad. “Of course we won’t. Any questions can wait until he awakes.” 

 

“What if he doesn’t wake up for months?” demanded Will. 

 

“So what?” Tessa whirled back the other direction, fully prepared to continue berating him. “What’s so important that you’d risk my brother’s life for it?” 

 

Will didn’t even blink. “All you cared about was finding your brother. And now you’ve found him. Good for you. But the rest of us still have work to do, and we need to know more about De Quincey and where he is.” 

 

“ _ You _ need to know.” Chali, a cat now, slashed at Issalinde. She glared at him with icy eyes. “This is not my fight. I’m not one of you.” 

 

“Believe me,” said Will. “We know.” Issalinde bit Chali’s ear, hard. Tessa felt it like a slap, and recoiled. Jem was saying something - trying to calm Will down, she thought - but she didn’t care. She looked around the room, holding Chalivan in her arms, and something inside her seemed to rush to the surface. It was as if she was in someone else’s body, with someone else’s mind’s echo trying to intervene, but she was no one but herself. 

 

“You ask me to trust you.” The words flew out. “Trust you with Nate, trust you with  _ me _ . You wanted to use me, just like the Dark Sisters did - the moment Camille came with information, you sent me out as if I have some responsibility to your world, your Law, but it’s  _ yours  _ and you’re the ones meant to govern it, and it’s not my fault or my problem to fix if you’re doing a rotten job!” 

 

Charlotte flinched. Tessa felt a stab of guilt. It hadn’t been Charlotte she wanted to hurt. But still, she went on. 

 

“All your talk about how you don’t hate Downworlders. You think you’re so much better than them. And maybe you’d be better at protecting mundanes if you didn’t think them  _ below _ you!” She fumbled for the door. “Stay away from my brother,” she said, before leaving the room and slamming it shut behind her. 

 

* * *

 

Anger, Tessa thought, was only satisfying in the moment. It left her feeling rather adrift in the aftermath. 

 

Unsure of where to go, she found herself sitting on the front stairs of the Institute, outside its heavy door. It had rained during the day, but the moon was out now, shining through bits of cloud. The courtyard shone with leftover raindrops, where the shadows of the gate didn’t cover them. 

 

Tessa sat. After a while, she even started to appreciate the odd beauty of the night. Chali, back to himself, sang a bit. 

 

Then a voice, quiet, spoke from the doorway she’d left open. “I know what you’re thinking.” 

 

She turned. Jem stood in the archway, hair gleaming, dragon-head cane in one hand, Kasimela at his feet. She turned back around. “I very much doubt you do.” 

 

Jem was not deterred. “You’re thinking,  _ if this rainy mess is summer, what must winter be like? _ Unfortunately, winter is much of the same. It’s spring that’s lovely.” 

 

“Is it,” Tessa said, without any real interest. 

 

“No. It’s foggy and damp as well.” 

 

Despite herself, the corner of her mouth turned up. Jem went on, “You may not wish for my company, of course, but should you like, I could sit with you for a while.” 

 

Tessa just nodded, and Jem settled himself beside her. Kasimela and Chalivan sized each other up for a moment, then curled up to watch them. 

 

It was quiet, save for wind, for a long time. 

 

“I shouldn’t have shouted like that,” Tessa said, finally. 

 

“No, you were right to say what you did. The Nephilim are so insular, we forget to look around us. It all becomes what is good for the Nephilim, or bad for the Nephilim…” he sighed. “We don’t stop to think if it’s good for the world.” 

 

Tessa accepted this with a nod. “I didn’t mean to hurt Charlotte.” A silence, but Jem seemed to understand that she was not done speaking, and merely needed to collect her thoughts. Jem often seemed to know things like that. He waited, without a drop of impatience, until she spoke again. “I didn’t mean what I said, up there. I don’t think the Nephilim are as dreadful as all that. Only sometimes.” 

 

“I know,” said Jem, and Tessa was oddly struck by those two words. “If you did mean it, you wouldn’t be here. You’d be with Nate, guarding him.” 

 

Another moment. Tessa sighed. “Will didn’t mean what he said, either, did he,” she said. It wasn’t a question. “About Nate. He wouldn’t hurt him.” 

 

“Ah.” Jem looked out past the gate, his eyes thoughtful. “You’re right. But I’m surprised you know it. I know it, but I have had years to understand him. To know when he means what he says and when he doesn’t.” 

 

To understand him. Will had asked, in the attic, what she wanted, and she had said,  _ To understand you _ . 

 

“So you don’t ever get angry with him?” 

 

Jem just laughed. “I do.” 

 

“How do you keep from strangling him?” 

 

“I go to my favorite place in London, and think about the continuity of life.” He said it with such a deadpan expression that Tessa had to smile. 

 

“And does that work?” Almost without thinking about it, she leaned to the side, until her head was on his shoulder. Only a light brush. Ready to move away, to be rebuffed. 

 

Instead, he wrapped one arm around her side, and she closed her eyes, her throat tighter than usual. 

 

“It  _ doesn’t  _ work,” said Jem, as though nothing out of the ordinary had happened. And somehow, that was the best thing of all. “But then I think about how if I really wanted to, I could shave his head in his sleep. And then I feel better.” 

 

Tessa laughed. It was a short laugh, but a real one. It was a while before she spoke again.

 

“Where is your favorite place in London?” 

 

Jem hesitated for a moment, then freed his arm, getting to his feet. “I’ll show you,” he offered, extending a hand. 

 

“Is it far?” 

 

“Not at all.” He smiled his lovely, contagious smile. Tessa smiled back, let herself be pulled to her feet, and followed him through the gate and out into the shadows of the city. 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A short chapter this time. 
> 
> by the way, my tumblr is graysheronstairs if you want to check it out. lots of reblogs and art.


	12. From Science and the Modern Still Impell'd

Tessa and Jem walked. London at night was perhaps a bit less crowded than the London of the day, but carriages or single riders still passed through the roads. Lamplight lit circles along the cobblestones, and Chali and Kasimela chased each other through leftover puddles.

 

Jem occasionally pointed things out - the Devil Tavern where Will had claimed to be, a road that would lead towards De Quincey’s old townhouse. But mostly, they walked in companionable quiet until they came to a bridge. 

 

It wasn’t especially beautiful, considering that half of it was an ugly railway bridge, but its pale marble arches caught the moonlight. 

 

“Blackfriars Bridge,” said Jem, as they walked out onto it. He leaned against one of its red-painted parapets. “The railway bridge isn’t much, but it means that people won’t come here to admire the view. And that means you can rest, here, and watch the river.” 

 

Tessa thought that the railway bridge hardly mattered. The Thames, in the darkness, seemed to be a void, a black expanse between the lights of the city on either bank. The mist that always seemed to roll in after rain made everything a bit blurry, a little soft, and Tessa couldn’t help but feel that she was floating in the liminal space between the two halves of the city. Two separate worlds. 

 

“ _ Sweet Thames, run softly till I end my song, _ ” she murmured. Ordinarily she wouldn’t have quoted arbitrary poetry at anyone. But Jem was different. Jem was always different. 

 

He didn’t laugh at her for it - only inclined his head. “I’ve heard that bit of rhyme, once,” he said. “Will’s quoted it at me before. What is it?” 

 

“Spenser.” Tessa frowned. “Will does seem to have an affinity for that sort of thing.” 

 

“He reads, often. And he has an excellent memory,” said Jem. “There is very little he does not remember.” There was something in his voice, then, that gave the statement weight. Tessa met his eyes, all silver and brightness. 

 

“You like Will, don’t you?” she said. “I mean. You care about him.”

 

“I love him,” said Jem, without deflection or hesitation, and there was something in his voice and in Kasimela’s eyes that gave Tessa pause.  _ I love him _ . As simple a declaration as one could make. But surely, he didn’t mean it as it sounded. They weren’t  _ lovers,  _ Jem and Will. They were just -  

 

_ Were they _ ? Suddenly, many things seemed to make more sense. Issalinde pushing her head into Jem’s hands. Will leaning into Jem’s lap in the library. But if they were - then was she - 

 

Tessa pushed it down as her face burned and Chali flinched. No wonder Will had pushed her away. But she would think about it later. If she had made a horrific fool of herself, as she was beginning to suspect she had, she would handle it later. Right now, she had to reply. 

 

“You can say that,” she said. “However horrid he is to everyone else, he loves  _ you _ . He’s kind to you.” 

 

Jem just looked out at the river, all silver and ash. He didn’t know why, Tessa realized. He didn’t sense his own inherent goodness, the way no one could speak to him and not be drawn in by it. The way he seemed to say, without speaking,  _ I understand. I listen. I care for you _ . No wonder Will wasn’t horrible to him. Tessa couldn’t imagine anyone ever willingly speaking a single word to hurt James Carstairs. She would, she thought, put herself between this hypothetical person and him, so that his contagious smile wasn’t threatened. 

 

“I don’t understand him,” said Tessa, shaking herself out of such thoughts after another moment. “He can be kind one second and cruel the next. I can’t decide  _ what  _ he is, if he’s gentle or hateful, or kind or awful.” 

 

“Does it matter?” asked Jem. “Should it fall to you to make such a decision?” 

 

“I want to know,” she said.  _ I kissed him, _ she wanted to say.  _ He looked beautiful and sad and I kissed him and I want to know why.  _ “I want to know why he  _ lies _ . Says he’ll hurt Nate when he won’t. He lies to you and you trust him. Why?” 

 

“Will,” said Jem, “lies consistently. He always invents the story that will make him look the worst.” 

 

Tessa digested this. It didn’t seem to change anything, not really. But maybe it was another step towards understanding. 

 

Jem frowned, his eyes sliding past her and to a pair of figures on the other side of the bridge, near the far bank. “A bit late for a walk, isn’t it?” 

 

“They probably think the same thing about us,” said Tessa absently, her mind still swimming. If Will and Jem were… whatever they were, that was… well, could she just  _ ask _ Jem? What would that mean, for her, save for quite a bit of humiliation? 

 

Chali was dithering. There was no other word for it. He fluttered back and forth, turning from a cat to a raccoon to a fox to a duck to a goldfinch again. Jem looked at Tessa in concern, but she just shook her head. 

 

“What’s Kasimela?” She blurted out, then immediately regretted replacing one intensely personal question with another. Jem only smiled. 

 

“Mela’s a red panda. Not as red as most, I’m afraid…” He hesitated. “But she’s always been like that.” 

 

This served to sufficiently distract Tessa from whatever inner turmoil she was facing. “A  _ panda _ ? Like the bears?” 

 

Jem just laughed, quietly. “No, not quite. A different species altogether.” Mela - after hearing Jem say it, somehow the nickname fit - ran up to him and jumped, gracefully, up to his shoulder. She lay across his shoulders easily, nuzzling the side of his head. “They’re more common in Shanghai. Here, she gets odd looks sometimes.” 

 

He didn’t seem sad when he said it, but Tessa’s heart still ached for him, a little. 

 

“I think she’s beautiful,” she said.  _ I think you’re beautiful _ . 

 

No sooner had the thought occurred to her than she nearly cursed aloud. God, what was  _ wrong  _ with her? Her heart still aching over Will’s cruelty, and with Will and Jem being who-knew-what -  _ in love _ , her brain substituted, Jem had been clear enough on that fact - 

 

Her turmoil, at least, was not visible. Jem’s eyes widened a bit, but the compliment towards Mela coaxed out his moonbeam smile. 

 

She didn’t have time to say anything else - to work up the courage to ask about Will, to carry on with questions about China or London, to irrationally apologize for daring to think him beautiful, all silver in the moonlight. The walking duo Jem had remarked upon earlier had passed them, but instead of continuing on, had turned to block the way from which they’d come, standing with their arms linked. Jem stiffened, glancing over at them, and reached for the dragon-head cane, balancing it in one hand. 

 

“Good evening,” he said, polite to a fault. “Is there something we can help you with?” 

 

The pair stood in silence. This close, Tessa took them in - one was a man in worker’s clothes and a wide-brimmed hat, pulled low over his face. The other was a woman in a gray dress. No daemons were visible, and despite everything, despite the Silent Brothers being the same way, Tessa’s skin crawled. Neither of them moved or spoke. 

 

Chali shivered. “No daemons,” he murmured in Tessa’s ear. Mela seemed equally uncomfortable, actually pulling back onto her hind legs, glaring at them with distrust in her eyes. 

 

“I’d appreciate it,” said Jem, “if you’d let me and my companion pass.” 

 

Silence. 

 

Finally, Jem took a half-step forward. As if this was what the man was waiting for, his hand darted out as though to seize Jem’s collar. He was too slow - the cane had already transformed into its shimmering blade, and Jem had ducked in a flash of motion, driving the sword up and along the man’s palm. 

 

Their assailant stepped back, but didn’t cry out. He merely turned his hand over, blinking at it. His skin had split open, but where there should have been blood, gray steel peeked through the cut. 

 

Tessa’s own hand prickled, and she flinched. 

 

“I thought so,” said Jem. “What are you? Who sent you?” 

 

The other automaton, which so far had not reacted, made a sighing noise. “Beware, Nephilim,” it said. “As you slay others, so shall you be slain. Your angel blood cannot protect you from that which neither heaven nor hell has made.” 

 

Unnerved, Tessa tried to duck around it, but it reached out for her with the same speed. One arm caught her shoulder, and she fought back against its inhuman strength, kicking out. For a moment, they wrestled to no avail, and she began to fear that she would be overpowered, carried off to who-knew-where if not killed on this bridge - 

 

But then Chalivan screamed, and became a horse - a full-sized tawny warhorse, taller than any of them. He reared back, dashing at the automaton with his hooves, throwing it off-balance. Tessa shoved, and it went over the railing of the bridge, splashing down into the water below. 

 

Jem, nearby, decapitated the other with one smooth slash. Blood trickled down his cheek where it had nicked him, but he seemed otherwise unhurt. 

 

Chali was a goldfinch again, as though he’d never been anything else.

 

Tessa tried to catch her breath, thinking that this was the first time she had won a fight in her own body. It didn’t feel like a victory as much as a numb shock. She had to wonder if that was going to be a part of her life now, that cold horror of just-after-fighting. In a way, she hoped not. 

 

“Are you all right?” She asked, reaching out to Jem as he brushed blood from his cheek. 

 

“I should be asking you that,” he said. Tessa just nodded that she was fine.  “These metal  _ things _ … they unnerve me. They -” 

 

He broke off, looking past her at the far end of the bridge. At least a half-dozen more automatons were milling at its edge, approaching quickly, with a whirring, clacking noise. 

 

“Run,” said Jem, reaching for her hand. Tessa clung to it, and ran. 

 

They hurtled off the bridge, down a set of slippery steps, and back into the road from which they’d come. Mela sprinted ahead of them while Chali flew, crying out wordlessly. Tessa didn’t want to waste time looking behind her, but she could  _ hear _ them approaching, gaining, and her lungs were burning. Jem, too, was out of breath, his face tight, as if he were in pain. Had he been injured in the fight? The Codex said that Nephilim could run for miles at a stretch without difficulty. 

 

She didn’t have the breath to ask him, and he didn’t slow as they ran around corners, through a square, and onto a street she recognized. There, there was the Institute, and they rushed through the gate, Jem leaning around her to slam it shut and lock it. 

 

It wasn’t a moment too soon. They were still pursued, grotesque half-metal hands reaching for them through the holes in the ironwork. Tessa fell to her knees, panting hard, only to see that Jem was pale - as pale as he had been when she had first met him. His hand was pressed to his side, hard enough that it shook. No, all of him was shaking, trembling violently as Kasimela chirred in a miserable tone. 

 

“Tessa,” he said, his voice uneven. “You need to - get inside, inside the Institute.” 

 

“Are you hurt? Jem, are you injured?” Save for the cut on his cheek, he seemed unharmed, but it was dark and the  _ creatures _ were still outside the gate, and - 

 

One of them had its hand through the gate, pulling at the chain that held it closed. Pulling so hard that the skin peeled away from its metal bones, and the chain was warping, clearly not going to hold. 

 

Numb with panic, Tessa slung Jem’s arm over her shoulders and dragged him towards the Institute doors. He was fever-hot, barely supporting his own weight, and his breath rattled in his chest in a way that terrified her more than the metal monsters did. The moment they reached the top of the stairs, he slid from her grip to the ground, choking coughs running through him. 

 

The chain snapped. Remembering frantically that the Codex claimed that you had to have Nephilim blood to open an Institute door, Tessa pulled at Jem’s shoulder. 

 

“Jem, Jem, please, you have to get up and open the door -” With her other hand, she yanked at the bellpull. Jem rolled over, and his eyes were open, but they were almost entirely white. 

 

“ _ Jem! _ ” 

 

He tried to stand, but his knees gave out, and he slumped back to the ground, blood running from the corner of his mouth. The creatures had opened the gate, and Tessa snatched up the fallen sword-cane, brandishing it in front of her. 

 

This was hopeless. She didn’t know how to use a weapon. But she would be damned if she allowed these  _ things _ to reach Jem, to reach the Institute, to reach her brother and the people she cared for despite herself. 

 

An automaton pushed her aside, and she fell to the ground with a cry. It then turned, bending over Jem, and she flung herself against the door, yelling, pounding, crying for  _ someone _ ,  _ Charlotte, Henry, Sophie, Jessamine, Will, Will - _

 

The automaton with the skinned hands who had broken the chain was straightening up. Its metal palms were dark with Jem’s blood, and it wiggled its fingers in a grotesque parody of a wave, vaulting itself back over the gate. The other five closed in on Tessa, and she held the cane in front of her as a last line of defense - 

 

And then the doors crashed open. Charlotte stood there like an avenging angel, silhouetted in light, Henry behind her, and Will behind them both. Without a word to Tessa, Charlotte flung a knife into the head of the creature closest to her, sending it reeling as Henry seemed to corral the others away. 

 

Will turned to her, looking panicked and furious. “What  _ happened _ ?” His voice was nearly a shout. Issalinde looked terrified, her fur fluffed up to twice its size. “Are you hurt anywhere? Where’s Jem?” 

 

“I’m all right,” she said. “But - Jem - he collapsed. There -” 

 

Will’s face went blank, as if all expression had just been wiped away. Without looking at her again, he raced up the steps, kneeling next to Jem’s crumpled form, saying something inaudible. When he received no reply, he scooped Jem up into his arms, half-cradling him - how strong  _ was _ Will, anyway? She decided it wasn’t the important thing to concern herself with right now - and carried him through the door without glancing back. 

 

Tessa sat on the steps, blood trickling into her eyes from a cut on her forehead - when had that happened? - and looked on as Charlotte and Henry dispatched the last of the mechanical creatures.

 

Silence fell with the last of them. The moon was still out, making everything silver and white in the darkness, and Tessa thought of Jem on the bridge, and how she had almost told him he was beautiful. 

 

* * *

 

“Come now, miss, let’s get you inside.” The next thing Tessa knew, Sophie was leading her through the doors. “That was a fair bump to the head.” 

 

“I’m all right,” she said, but still welcomed the sight of a chair and a fire, sitting until things began to swim into better focus. Charlotte and Henry returned, smelling like night and metal, and Henry asked about Jem before Thomas, looking serious, informed him that Will was with him and he would be all right. 

 

“One escaped,” said Tessa, quiet. “It ran. Before you arrived.”

 

Henry swore, but Charlotte just shook her head. “There’s nothing we can do about it now,” she said, and squeezed Tessa’s shoulder, examining the cut on her forehead. Then she glanced somewhere behind her, eyes going wide. Tessa whipped her head around. 

 

Will was standing in the doorway, his face still expressionless. A streak of blood stained his shirt, but he looked directly at Tessa. 

 

“He wants to talk to you,” he said. 

  
A moment of silence. Tessa was the one to break it. 

 

“Is he… all right?” 

 

“He wants to talk to you,” repeated Will, “so you will come with me, and you will talk to him.” 

 

“Will,” began Charlotte, her tone a reprimand, but Tessa was already on her feet. And without a word, she followed Will down the corridor. 


	13. Ever the Permanent Life of Life

 

This time, Jem’s curtains were closed. The only light in his room came from witchlight stones arranged on the side table and cedar chest. 

 

He lay in his bed, paler than ever, his eyelids dark blue. Kasimela lay atop his chest, eyes once again half-lidded, nuzzling at him in an attempt to comfort that made Tessa’s heart ache. 

 

At the sound of the door opening, Jem turned his head, though he didn’t open his eyes. Will, managing a passably upbeat tone, said, “I brought her, just like you asked.” 

 

Jem’s eyes flicked open, then. They were back to their silver color, but they were heavily shadowed. 

 

“I’m so sorry,” was all he said. 

 

Tessa looked at Will - for guidance? Permission? It seemed that neither one was forthcoming, so she moved to sit beside Jem’s bed, feeling adrift. 

 

“Jem,” she said finally. “You shouldn’t be sorry, or be apologizing to me at all. I’m the one the Magister wants, the reason those things were after us. If I hadn’t been there, you wouldn’t have been hurt.” 

 

“Hurt,” he said, his voice more bitter than she had ever heard it. “I wasn’t hurt.” 

 

“James,” said Will. Not really a warning, but a question. As if he was asking,  _ are you sure? _

 

“She should know, William. Otherwise, she’ll think this was, her fault.” Jem still didn’t seem to be able to get much air into his lungs at once, and he spoke in short sentences, but the horrible coughing had gone. 

 

“It’s nobody’s fault,” said Will, vehemently. “I just think you should be careful. Talking will tire you out.” Jem ignored this, but Will took his hand with a sigh and began gently inking another rune onto his wrist. This, at least, made his breaths and words come easier, though he winced in pain. 

 

“There are more important things,” said Jem, and Will’s mouth twisted. Before Tessa could react, he had turned and left the room. 

 

Jem sighed. “He’s so stubborn.”

 

“He was right,” said Tessa. “Well. At least, he was right that you don’t have to tell me anything you don’t want to. I know it wasn’t your fault.” 

 

“Fault has nothing to do with it.” He sat up a bit, and Mela was dislodged, though she only moved to his side. “I just think you should have the truth. Concealing it rarely helps anything.” Jem looked towards the door for a moment, as if he meant the words for the absent Will. Or as if Will was waiting, listening, outside it. Perhaps he was. 

 

Then he shook his head, as if to clear it, and winced. “You know that I lived until I was eleven in Shanghai, with my parents? That they ran the Institute there?” 

 

“Yes,” said Tessa, settling in to listen. 

 

“They were killed by a demon,” he said. “ _ Yanluo _ . It had a grudge against my mother. She’d killed a nest of its offspring, but it bided its time for years. Eventually, it found a weak spot in the wards surrounding the Institute, and tunneled in.” Mela, seeming loath to move from his side, pushed her head under his arm, and Jem laid a hand on her back, fingers shaking slightly. “It tortured me for some time. And my parents through me. Injecting me with poisons, demon poison that targeted my body and mind. I dreamed. I dreamed for a long time.”

 

He was holding to facts, only, Tessa realized. Reciting them as though a teacher had asked him to. She didn’t ask for more, but he offered them, fingers digging into Kasimela’s silvery-red fur. 

 

“My father died quickly. After a few hours, I didn’t hear him calling to me anymore. My mother called to me for days. For  _ Jian _ , the name she gave me when I was born.” He shook his head again. 

 

“Jem,” said Tessa, quiet. “You can stop. You don’t need to tell me all of it now.” 

 

He wasn’t looking at her. “You know,” he said, seemingly out of nowhere. “The British bring opium into China by the ton. They made a nation of addicts out of us. In some ways, Shanghai is built on opium. It’s full of dens where men starve to death because they prefer the drug to food. They’ll give anything for it. I used to think them weak, as a child.” 

 

He took a deep breath. “By the time the Enclave grew concerned about the silence from the Institute, my mother was dead. I don’t remember any of it. They took me to the Silent Brothers, who healed my body, but I had become dependent on the demon drug  _ Yanluo _ had poisoned me with. I require it to function. They tried to wean me off of it, but… that caused incredible pain. They experimented for weeks, but there was nothing to be done. I cannot live without it. The drug itself brings a slow death, but to abandon it is a quick one.” 

 

Tessa was fixated on an earlier phrase. “Weeks of experiments? On a  _ child _ ? That’s cruel, that’s -” 

 

“That’s goodness,” said Jem. “Real goodness has its own sort of cruelty to it.” He gestured towards the table. “There’s a box, near the witchlight. Open it?” 

 

Tessa did. It was silver, with an etched design of a woman in robes, holding a jug of water. Inside was what she, at first, mistook for ash. But it was too bright, the same silver color as Jem’s hair and eyes. 

 

“It comes from a warlock dealer in Limehouse,” he said. “I take some of it every day, and it drains the color from my hair, my eyes, even my skin. If I have to fight, I take more. I’d taken none today. The fighting, when it wore me out - my body started feeding on itself, with no drug to draw upon.” 

 

Chali leaned, silently, up against Mela. A quiet note left his throat.

 

“You said,” said Tessa, “that the drug means a slow death. Taking it is killing you.” 

 

“Yes,” said Jem, and her heart skipped a painful beat. 

 

“But if you take more when you fight, why don’t you stop fighting? The others would understand.” 

 

“They would. But there is more to life than not dying. I do not want to lay in my room all day, trying to extend my lifespan another few months or years. I used to search for a cure, but eventually… I stopped. I asked Will and the others to stop as well. I want my life to be more than this drug and its hold on me. More than that, however and whenever it ends.” 

 

Tessa’s eyes burned. She found herself, again, taken aback by Jem’s quiet strength.

 

“I don’t want you to die,” she whispered. It was preposterous, that she felt it so strongly. She’d just met him a matter of days ago. But those few days felt as full as half her life before them. 

 

Jem only reached out for her hand. The new mark on his wrist was already fading back into his skin. “I believe you,” he said, and their fingers interlaced for a moment. 

 

Then, in the silence, Tessa looked up, around, past their hands and over to the door, where Will was leaning in shadow. Somehow, she knew that he’d been there, listening in, for most of it. He hadn’t said a word, hadn’t interrupted - in fact, he was watching them both with an expression that she was surely misreading. It looked… soft, tender, almost. Directed just as much to her as to Jem. 

 

She squeezed Jem’s hand, once, and gestured to the door with her chin. Jem only smiled, as though he’d known Will was eavesdropping the entire time. He likely had. 

 

At that, Will walked a few steps into the room, sitting down in the chair on the other side of the bed. “You told her.” Despite his tone, Issalinde jumped onto the mattress and curled up on Mela’s other side.

 

“I did.” There was no challenge in Jem’s voice. He leaned back into the pillow, eyes fluttering a bit. Remembering what Will had said about talking tiring Jem out, Tessa got to her feet. 

 

“Must you go?” he asked, eyes still nearly closed. 

 

He had never asked her for anything selfish before. Tessa froze. 

 

“Of course not-” she started to say, but Will’s eyes were suddenly - terrified? Angry? And of course - she had kissed him, he had pushed her away, they had fought, Jem had brought them to a temporary peace. But staying with Will longer than necessary would be tempting fate. 

 

She had almost certainly imagined the affection she’d just seen in his face, then. 

 

“It’s hardly fair to keep Tessa from her brother,” said Will. 

 

“Ah,” said Jem, eyes completely shut now. “My apologies, Tessa. I nearly forgot.” 

 

Tessa said nothing. She was too busy being horrified that Jem was not the only one who had nearly forgotten about Nate. By the time she opened her mouth, though, he truly was asleep. As she watched, Will reached up to pull the covers over his chest, more gently than she had ever seen him move. 

 

Chali flew to her shoulder, and Tessa let herself out as quietly as she could. 

 

* * *

 

The door to Nate’s room was half-open. Tessa slipped her head through it, peering inside. 

 

Her brother was a heaped mound of blankets, the guttering candle on the table illuminating Faela’s fur where she was curled on the pillow next to him. 

 

In the armchair beside the bed sat Jessamine, fast asleep with her legs drawn up to her chest. Jascuro, his head under his wing, sat beside her. Her hair was coming out of its chignon, and she had found a heavy blanket from somewhere, or else someone had brought it for her. It was draped around her shoulders, her hands clutching at it. In the stillness, she looked more vulnerable than Tessa had ever seen her. 

 

It was so strange, Tessa thought, what brought out tenderness in people. Without another sound, she pulled her head back out of the doorway and turned to go. 

* * *

 

Tessa awoke in the morning out of fitful dreams. In them, Jem had been peacefully sleeping, but the fire from De Quincey’s townhouse had licked at the bed. She’d tried to wake him, but still he slept on. 

 

She only opened her eyes when she felt Sophie’s hand on her shoulder. “Tessa, you must wake up. It’s your brother.” 

 

_ That _ woke her. She sat bolt upright, scattering pillows everywhere. “Nate’s awake? Is he all right?” 

 

“Yes - I mean - no, you see. He’s gone missing.” 

 

Tessa jumped from the bed, threw on the first dress she saw, and ran out into the hall. Jessamine, her usual angry expression back in place, was waiting outside the door. Tessa spun to face her. 

 

“What’s going on? Where’s Nate?”

 

“I don’t  _ know _ ,” she snapped. “I fell asleep in the chair and when I woke up, he was gone.” 

 

“He can’t have gone far - isn’t anyone looking for him?” 

 

At this, Jascuro chirped irritably from his place on Jessamine’s shoulder. “We’re  _ all _ looking for him,” she said. “Will, Charlotte, Henry, Thomas. Do you want us to roust Jem out of bed and make him join in too?” 

 

“Honestly, Jessamine-” Tessa turned away. “Well, I’m going to look as well.” Her mind whirled. Where could Nate have gone? If he was delirious, he might have been looking for her, but the Institute was a maze of similar-looking, tapestry-filled corridors. He could be anywhere. 

 

She started along in one direction, without much of a plan. Chali flew down from her shoulder, becoming a bloodhound, as though he could sniff Nate out, only to be startled as Thomas appeared from the main staircase. 

 

“Miss Gray,” he said. He looked serious, and her stomach dropped. “I found your brother.” 

 

“You found him? Where is he?” 

 

“In the drawing room. He was hiding behind the curtains.” Thomas looked almost embarrassed to have found Nate cowering somewhere, and Tessa fought off a surge of indignation. Nate wasn’t Nephilim, and was probably terrified, and delirious besides. Thomas couldn’t expect him to react to his situation with stoic courage. 

 

She didn’t reply, though, and merely moved past him, into the drawing room. Chali, as an afterthought, returned to his usual form. 

 

Weak daylight found its way in through the windows, but the fire was lit - Nathaniel sat in front of it in one of the armchairs. He had found his old, bloodstained clothes from De Quincey’s somewhere, though his feet were bare, and he was holding his head in his hands. Faela was staring into the fire, fluffy tail twitching. 

 

When she approached, he looked up, incredulous. “Tessa?” 

 

With a slight cry, she threw her arms around him. He winced, but didn’t allow her to pull back, hugging her tightly. For a moment, holding Nate, Tessa felt as though she was a child in the little kitchen in their Aunt Harriet’s apartment again, the smell of cooking around them, her aunt’s soft laughter as she told them to play more quietly. 

 

Nate finally pulled away, looking down at her. “God, you look so different,” he said, with a rueful smile, and Tessa felt an unpleasant shock. “Older,” he went on. “Maybe wiser.” 

 

Tessa was quite sure she wasn’t the only one who looked different. Nate was still pale, and bruises stood out in green and yellow and purple on his face and neck. Noticing her staring, he shrugged. “It’s not as bad as it looks.” 

 

“Yes it is,” said Tessa. “Nate, what are you doing here? You should be resting.”

 

“I was trying to find you,” he said, somewhat defensively, though Faela and Chali were still cheerfully reuniting. “I saw you, before that bastard with no eyes got at me. I figured they’d imprisoned you, too - I wanted to get us out.” 

 

“Imprisoned -” Of course. She had thought the same thing, in the beginning. “No, it’s not like that. We’re safe here. Safer, anyway.” 

 

“This is the Institute, isn’t it?” He looked around. “De Quincey said that if the Nephilim caught me, they’d take me apart piece by piece for breaking their Laws.” 

 

“No.” Tessa sat in another chair, across from him. “They’re… strange people, the Nephilim. But they’re kind to me. I  _ wanted  _ to stay here, and they let me.”  _ Until I found you _ , she didn’t say.  _ I wanted to stay here until I found you _ . 

 

_ It’s time to wake up. One way or another. _

 

There was a distant look in Nate’s eyes that was so familiar it hurt. It was the look her brother had when he was dreaming, hatching some mad plan, Faela running back and forth as his mind worked still faster. “We can still leave,” he said. “Go back to New York. Take the steamer from Liverpool, we can scrounge up the money for that -” 

 

“And do what, Nate?” She asked, as gently as she could. “We have no money. I sold most of our things to pay for Aunt’s funeral, and the Dark Sisters took the rest. The apartment’s gone. We have nothing to return to.” 

 

“Then we’ll start over. Make a new life.” 

 

Tessa looked at him with a pained sadness. Nate wasn’t like other people, her aunt had told her. He had an innocence about him, a dreamer’s spirit that needed to be protected. So protect him they had, shielding him from the consequences of his actions, working extra to make up the money he lost gambling, keeping him in a world where his mad dreams were still possible, where he couldn’t be hurt. 

 

But he had been hurt anyway. Perhaps the truth really was best. 

 

“It can’t be like that, Nate. Not yet. This mess we’re in, it’ll follow us and keep following us. We need the Nephilim, we need to help them end it.”

 

Nate’s eyes were dazed. “I guess so,” he said, and the phrase was so familiarly American that Tessa felt homesick. “He made me send those letters, that ticket. Told me he wouldn’t hurt me once he had you, but when he wouldn’t let me see you, I thought - you ought to hate me.” 

 

“I don’t hate you,” said Tessa, her voice wavering. “You’re my blood, I can’t hate you.” 

 

“Do you think, when all this is over - we can go back? Live normal lives?” 

 

_ Live normal lives _ . A few days before, a week before, it was all she would have wanted to hear from him. The words brought up a picture of some sunny apartment in New York, a new job for Nate, another for Tessa. They could take the train to Coney Island on days off, and it would be summer,  _ real _ summer, not this watery gray summer in London. She would be just a girl with her head in a book, working at a laundry or a factory or even a bookshop somewhere, never needing to worry about metal monsters or Nephilim or Changing into someone else. 

 

Never Changing. Never fighting. Never seeing this world, and the people in it, again.

 

She tried to hold the picture in her head, but it faded away from her. Just like a dream in the morning. 

 

Instead, she saw Will’s face, and Jem’s, and Charlotte’s, and then even Magnus’, saying  _ Poor you. Now that you know the truth, you can’t ever go back. _

 

“But we’re not like that,” said Tessa. “I’m not, anyway. I don’t want a normal life.” 

 

He looked down at the floor. Before he could reply, though, the door opened. It was Thomas, again, looking apologetic. “Miss Gray, Master Will is -” 

 

“Is right here,” said Will, ducking nimbly around Thomas. He was wearing the same clothes as the night before, though they were rumpled. Tessa expected he had slept beside Jem. His gaze landed on Nate. “Our wanderer, found at last. Thomas tells me you were hiding in the curtains.” 

 

Nate looked at Will without much expression. “Who are you?” 

 

Tessa made introductions, though neither of them seemed especially happy to meet the other. Will, in fact, was looking at Nate as if he was a new species of bug that, while scientifically relevant, was not pleasant to behold. Issalinde batted at Faela with one curious paw, and Faela chittered furiously, darting about.

 

“So you’re Nephilim,” Nate said. “De Quincey claimed you were monsters.” 

 

“Was that before or after he tried to eat you?” 

 

Tessa got to her feet. “Will. Might I speak to you for a moment?” 

 

She had expected resistance, but received none. After one last look at Nate, Will followed her out and into the corridor, closing the door behind him. Chali took the form of a cat once more, and he and Issalinde circled each other as Tessa had seen alley cats do, when about to fight. Ears back, eyes narrowed. Ready to explode into motion. 

 

It was Will who spoke first. “Very well. You have me alone in the corridor-” 

 

“Yes, yes,” sighed Tessa, “And thousands all over England would pay handsomely for the chance. Let’s forget about that for now, this is important.” 

 

“You want me to apologize, do you?” asked Will. “For what happened in the attic?” 

 

This caught her off guard, pulling up memory. Will’s hand on her wrist, her mouth on his. “What? No. No, no.” 

 

“So you  _ don’t _ want me to apologize?” Will was smiling now. 

 

“I don’t care whether you’re sorry or not,” said Tessa. “I wanted to tell you to be kind to Nate. He’s been through hell, and he doesn’t need to be interrogated like some sort of criminal.” 

 

Will replied more quietly than she’d expected. “I know,” he said. “But if he’s hiding something -” 

 

“Everyone hides things!” Chali did strike out, then, though his claws were sheathed. “There are things he’s ashamed of, but they don’t need to matter to you. It’s not as if you tell people everything.” 

 

“What do you mean?” 

 

_ Where are your parents, if they’re alive?  _ She thought.  _ Why do you have nowhere to go but here? Why did you send me away, in the attic?  _ She asked none of those things, however. Instead, she said, “What about Jem? Why didn’t you tell me he was ill as he is? Why didn’t you tell me you two were -” she still couldn’t say it. 

 

“Jem?” Will looked startled, as if this was not the direction he had expected their talk to go in. “I didn’t tell you he was ill because it’s his secret, not mine. In fact, I didn’t even want him to tell you himself, if you recall.” He smirked, as if taunting her. “And tell you that we were, what, precisely? Devilishly handsome?” 

 

“ _ Lovers _ ,” hissed Tessa, face burning. “Maybe then I wouldn’t have made a fool of myself trying to kiss you in the first place!” 

 

Will blinked, seeming genuinely thrown. “‘Lovers’ is a strong word. Not that you’re wrong, but… wait. Wait, you think I pushed you away because of  _ Jem _ ?” 

 

Tessa froze. “Didn’t you?” The conversation was definitely not going the way she’d expected, either. 

 

“No,” said Will, and then instantly flinched. Issalinde bit him on the ankle, and he grimaced down at her. The look on his face was that of someone who had made a grievous error, but had gone too far to stop. “It’s not like that. We both think you’re -” He broke off. 

 

“You both think I’m  _ what? _ ” 

 

But Will’s face had closed back off. “Dangerously naive and concerningly unable to maintain focused on one topic of conversation. We  _ were  _ meant to be talking about your brother.” 

 

“No, I’m not letting you change the subject,” said Tessa. “You always do that.” 

 

“I don’t  _ always  _ do anything. You don’t even know me, Tess.”

 

“And whose fault is that?” Both Chali and Issalinde were bristling furiously now. 

 

“I don’t know you, either,” spat Will, “I don’t know you at all. And you ask why I didn’t want Jem to tell you? Too many people think he could just stop, if he was strong enough. Think he’s just an addict. They say things like that to his face, and he tells me he doesn’t believe them and then pushes himself until he collapses.” 

 

Tessa met his eyes. “I wouldn’t do that.” 

 

“I don’t  _ know _ that, because I don’t really _ know _ you, goddamn it! Whatever you and Jem have, whatever he’s told you about himself, I can’t be like that. I can’t, Tess.” 

 

“Then why not? You've been kind to me, you seem to care about me, you want to know about me. Why don’t you?  _ What are you so afraid of?”  _

 

Will was stunned into silence, as if Tessa had slapped him. After a moment, he turned away, as though he could no longer bear to look at her. 

 

“I want to understand you,” she whispered. He scoffed. “No, it’s true. You’re so kind and funny and then you say things and it’s like all you ever do is hurt people. I want to believe you’re good.”  _I want to love you._

 

“You’ve been reading too much,” he said. “Trying to save me like I’m a troubled dashing hero with goodness deep inside. Wake up, Tessa. You can go tend to your brother if you need someone to fuss over.”

 

Tessa didn’t have a reply to that. She bit her lip to keep from shouting something she’d regret, and turned back around, only to see Jem in a nearby doorway. Much like Will the night before, she had no way of knowing how much he’d heard. But he, at least, seemed apologetic, if still pale and wan. Mela's eyes were still half-closed, she noticed.

 

“Are you all right?” she asked, and Will turned in shock before seeing Jem and sighing. 

 

Jem half-smiled, still looking a bit sheepish. “Nearly. Charlotte suggested we all go to listen to what Nate has to say, and I’m well enough to listen, at least.” 

 

Will grimaced. “How much did you hear?” 

 

“Not enough,” said Jem, which made Tessa wonder, but Will seemed to understand it. He turned and walked back into the drawing room, as Charlotte, Henry and Jessamine came down the hall, Henry carrying a few blankets over one arm. 

 

“How is your brother?” asked Charlotte, who had some tea on a tray. 

 

Tessa’s heart warmed despite herself. Whatever Will did, Charlotte and Henry would be kind to Nate. She doubted they could help it. “He’s shaken,” she said. “But he’s all right, I think. More lucid.” 

 

Charlotte smiled at her on the way into the room. She was about to follow, before Jem reached out, his face thoughtful. 

 

“I’m sorry,” he said. “About Will.” 

 

Tessa just shrugged. She didn’t feel hurt by Will’s words, only frustrated. “He doesn’t want me to understand him. And I did push. I suppose that’s fair.” 

 

Jem looked as though he wanted to say something, something important, but then Nate called her name from inside the drawing room, and Tessa turned to go to her brother. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Another long chapter, in which Jem is strong and good, Nate is naive, and Will and Tessa yell at each other.


	14. Ever Materials Changing, Crumbling, Re-Cohering

The drawing room was crowded. Nate sat in the armchair, a blanket thrown over his lap. Sophie stoked the fire, Charlotte and Henry sat across the room on a small sofa, Jessamine stood at Nate’s side. Will, as usual, was leaning against a wall on the outskirts of the group. Jem went to join him as Tessa sat in her vacated chair.

 

“Nate,” said Tessa, after a few moments of quiet. “Did everyone introduce themselves?” 

 

Nate just nodded. Faela was looking nervously around at the assembled group, and only seemed more tense when Raimond trotted over, ever curious. Charlotte was watching, sharply. 

 

“Mr. Gray,” she said. “We spoke to Mortmain already. He told us much about this, but we’d rather hear your story from you, if you don’t mind.” 

 

Nate just nodded. 

 

“What happened?” 

 

Nate started from the beginning. He had been in debt, in New York, and had hidden it from Tessa and their aunt. Looking for their mother’s old jewelry to pawn, he’d found a few diary pages of hers that mentioned Mortmain. He had written and asked for a job. 

 

When he received it, he had gone to London - that much, Tessa knew. She and Aunt Harriet had seen him off, hoping that his dreamer’s temperament hadn’t gone too far. And, it seemed at first, it hadn’t. He’d sent back money, and little gifts - chocolates, or a cheap music box. But then the presents and money had stopped, and her aunt had taken ill, and then there was nothing from Nate at all until a single steamer ticket. 

 

Nate had been employed under Mortmain, he claimed. And it was Mortmain who first introduced him to Downworld, Downworld gambling dens, Downworld taverns owned by De Quincey. At first, Nate had won the games he played, but only because he had been allowed to. Eventually, he began to lose, and gambled more to try to make it up, and lost again, and again, and again. 

 

It was a familiar story, to Tessa, but in London Nate had had no one to save him. 

 

Eventually, Nate went on, De Quincey had told him that he had lost more than he could ever hope to pay back in a lifetime, and that for that reason, his life would be forfeit. He had said that he had reason to believe one of Nate’s mother’s children was special, but the only thing special about Nate was his foolishness. So instead of demanding his debts in the form of his life, De Quincey asked for Tessa’s instead. Nate had agreed immediately. 

 

“He swore he wouldn’t hurt you,” said Nate. “He said he’d kill me otherwise, but he swore he wouldn’t hurt you. Said he’d make you rich.” 

 

Will scoffed, looking disgusted. “Oh, that’s fine. It’s not as if there are things more important than money.” Jem, next to him, seemed dangerously still and equally furious. 

 

Jessamine huffed. “If he’d refused, De Quincey would have killed him anyway and then sent for Tessa himself. I don’t see what you’re so upset about.” 

 

Issalinde arched her back. “And that’s your objective opinion?” asked Will. “Nothing to do with the fact that you’ve been trying to fawn over him until he falls in love with you?  Any mundane will do, no matter how vile -” 

 

As Will and Jessamine started to shout at each other, Tessa looked at her brother. She’d known for some time that what Aunt Harriet had called innocence was in fact spoiled childishness, and that, being the firstborn, and beautiful, and a boy, Nate had always been the prince of his own little world. But he was still her brother. 

 

“Jessamine’s right,” she said. When her voice didn’t cut through the babble of the room, Chali became a crow, and cawed loudly. Nate stared in shock. “I  _ said _ , Jessamine’s right. It wouldn’t have done Nate any good to refuse. And we still need to know what De Quincey’s planning. And how the metal things fit in. It’s done now, and there’s no point shouting at Nate about it.” 

 

The room quieted. After an awkward and unconvinced silence, Nate went on with his story. 

 

De Quincey hated Nephilim, he claimed. And was building the metal creatures, the automatons, so that he could bind demon energies to them and use them to, over time, kill enough Nephilim that they would die out. Since Nephilim weapons and runes made them superior fighters, De Quincey created something that could not be killed by their angel blades. 

 

“That’s what the Dark Sisters were there for,” said Nate. “Besides training Tessa, I mean. They’re warlocks too, they were working on a spell to bind demon energies. They finally found it, a week or two ago.” 

 

Everyone stared at each other for a moment. 

 

“Then why hasn’t he done anything, save for sending a few after Tessa?” asked Charlotte. 

 

“It didn’t work.” Faela scurried up the leg of Nate’s chair and settled in his palm. “They animated, certainly. But they can only be programmed to do the most basic of things. De Quincey, he wants  _ beings _ , not mindless servants. He needs to wait until some sort of natural event, I think. I don’t know how this sort of thing works. The full moon, or an equinox, or something like that.” 

 

“The next full moon is very soon,” said Charlotte. “Tomorrow, if I’m not mistaken. Could it be then?”

 

“There are lunar tables in the library. I’ll check them,” said Jem, leaving the room with only a slightly unsteady step. 

 

“It could be,” said Nate, looking a bit lost. “He did say something about only needing to wait for the month to be out. But it might not.” 

 

“There’s nothing to lose from investigating,” said Henry, his monkey daemon watching Nate with an unbroken stare. “Is there anywhere he might have fled to? After his townhouse burned?” 

 

“He had a hideaway in Chelsea.” Nate shifted in his seat. “I can find it on a map, if you have one-” 

 

His sentence trailed off as Jem returned. “Charlotte,” he said, urgency in his voice. “The full moon’s tonight.” 

 

* * *

 

Charlotte had dashed to the library to inform some of the Enclave members that they would have to take emergency action. Henry remained in the drawing room, surprisingly patient with Nate as he narrowed down the location on a quickly sketched map. Then he, as well, got to his feet and left the room, followed by Jem and Will, who were going to the weapons room with Thomas to find seraph blades. 

 

“It’ll be odd,” said Nate, once they had settled back into a worried silence. “They’re going out to fight - and, what, it’ll just be us in this giant old place?” 

 

“Not just us,” said Jessamine, who was still attending very closely to Nate in the evident hope that he would fall in love with her and whisk her away from the Institute. “Will and Jem aren’t going either. They don’t tend to take the younger generation and the older at the same time, you see, in case they’re all wiped out.” She tutted. “I expect Benedict Lightwood just wanted an excuse to make his son and daughter stay behind. He babies them horribly.” 

 

Nate didn’t have much of a chance to react to this, as Thomas arrived with some old clothes of Henry’s for him to wear, and he got to his feet, making to leave the room. 

 

“Perhaps you should get some rest,” said Tessa, noticing the shadows under his eyes, but he shook his head. 

 

“I’ve been resting too long. I could stand to eat a bite of something, and then I wouldn’t mind some company. If you wouldn’t mind me joining you here once I’m dressed, that is?” 

 

“Of course not!” exclaimed Jessamine delightedly. Jascuro sang a few cheerful, warbling notes from her shoulder. “I’ll ask Agatha to make something, and then we could play cards while we wait.” 

 

Tessa nearly bit through her lip before giving up once the door had closed behind her brother. “Cards?” Chali, still a crow, was glaring balefully across the room. “You want to play _ cards _ while Henry and Charlotte are out risking their lives?” 

 

Jessamine tossed her hair. “Well, moping around certainly won’t help them.”

 

“I don’t think,” she continued, “that cards are a kind thing to suggest, considering his gambling is what got us into this.” 

 

“We don’t have to gamble,” tutted Jessamine. “Honestly, it’s just a friendly game of cards. I’m going to go talk to Agatha.” With that, she strode off and out of the door. After an irritated pause, Tessa made as if to follow, but she had already gone. 

 

Instead of Jessamine, Will was standing in the corridor, spinning a dagger on his hand and scowling. He carried multiple seraph blades and one large saber, all in a belt that crossed his chest. 

 

“I thought you weren’t going to fight,” said Tessa, by way of greeting. 

 

“I’m not. I’m sending these in the carriage so the Enclave can use them.” He didn’t sound pleased by the prospect. “Concerned for me, are you? Or were you going to give me a token to wear into battle, like in  _ Ivanhoe _ ?” 

 

“ _ Ivanhoe  _ was a ridiculous book,” said Tessa. “Rowena was a ninny.” 

 

Will gave a startled laugh. It wasn’t enough to dissolve the tension between them, no. But it was a start. 

 

“Will -” 

 

“Yes?” 

 

“Once it’s over. Once they kill him and the Magister is gone. What will happen to Nate and I?” 

 

He snorted. “You think Charlotte would ever toss you out? She wouldn’t get rid of you if the Lightwoods threatened her at knifepoint. So I suppose we’ll have to put up with your brother as well. Unless you want to leave? To go home?” 

 

Tessa just shook her head. She remembered how it had felt when she arrived at the Institute, bruised and lost and certain she was being manipulated. And heaven knew that these people weren’t perfect. But now, they felt like the only family she had save for Nate. 

 

“I am home,” she said, and nearly kicked herself for saying something so preposterously cliche. It was also the sort of thing that would send Will into one of his moods, she knew - but he only gave her a half-smile. Issalinde didn’t even twitch, just fixed her with a blue stare that drew out more words. “I think we all are.” 

 

Curiosity still bubbled up in her. She remembered that Will had snapped at her that he wasn’t an orphan, that he had a family. Slightly encouraged by the lack of shouting, she ventured, “Do  _ you _ have some other home you could go to?” 

 

Will just sighed. “I did, once. Can’t go back to it.” 

 

“Why not?” 

 

But he was already drawing back, closing back off. “Henry and Charlotte are waiting.” By the time Tessa opened her mouth, he was already gone. 

 

* * *

 

The next hour found Tessa in the drawing room again, watching Jessie and Nate play cards and trying not to worry too much. Jem and Will sat on the sofa, silent, with Will slouched against its arm and Jem leaning slightly into his side. He was still just a little bit too pale. 

 

“I didn’t get to say good luck, or goodbye,” she said, more to herself than to anyone else. But Jem, of course, heard her. 

 

“You needn’t worry,” he said, gesturing for her to come sit with him and Will. She did so, and Mela’s tail twitched happily. “Nephilim don’t say goodbye, or good luck, before battles. We behave as if return is certain, not a matter of chance.” 

 

Will had been forced out of his slouch to make room when Tessa took a seat on the sofa on Jem’s other side, but he flopped back over at this, elbowing Jem gently in the shoulder. “Who needs chance,” he said, his tone bitter, “when you have a heavenly mandate? With  _ God _ on your side, what does luck matter?” 

 

Tessa looked over at him in surprise. Before she could say anything, though, Jessamine spoke up. 

 

“Don’t be so depressing while we’re playing cards, Will.”  

 

Issalinde hissed, but Will just stood up and wandered the few feet to the table, looking at Jessie’s hand of cards, then at the teacup Nate was drinking from. 

 

“Is there any tea at all in this,” he inquired, “or is it  _ pure  _ brandy?” 

 

Nate flushed, Faela twitching. “Brandy’s restorative.” 

 

“Don’t be a hypocrite,” added Jessamine. “It’s not like you’re perfectly sober. You’re just fussing because Charlotte wouldn’t let you fight.” 

 

Will grimaced. Mela left Jem’s side for a moment, as though she planned on dragging Issalinde out of trouble herself. But before anything could escalate further, a loud bell-like sound tolled through the room. 

 

Nate looked up in confusion. “I thought this wasn’t a real church. And that there were no bells.” 

 

“There aren’t,” said Will. “That’s the summoning bell.” And without a word, he left the room, only for Jem to follow, inclining his head as if to suggest that Tessa come along as well. 

 

Since Nate and Jessamine had given up on playing cards and were now simply talking to each other about something she couldn’t concentrate on, she left the room a moment later. 

 

* * *

 

Tessa didn’t try to catch up, merely trailed behind Will and Jem as they opened the door. A carriage had pulled up, dark brown with light lettering that read “Mortmain and Company”. 

 

Mortmain. Nate’s employer. He was an average-looking man, with graying hair and a somewhat thin face. Shorter than she would have imagined, but not notably so. In fact, nothing about him seemed notable at all. His daemon, a green lizard-looking creature, sat on his shoulder. 

 

Tessa was furious with him. She scarcely waited for Will and Jem to greet him before bursting out, “You can’t see Nate. I don’t know if that’s the reason you’re here, but he doesn’t need to be reminded that you let him sink into Downworld without ever looking for him.” 

 

Mortmain didn’t get angry. Instead, he looked at her ruefully. “I know I failed the boy,” he said. “In fact, I wanted to make up for that. I have information, things I hear through Downworld.” 

 

“I doubt you have much we don’t know,” said Will. 

 

Mortmain tried. He spoke of the fact that De Quincey had ordered multiple machine parts from him, that he had hired two warlocks, the Dark Sisters, to bind demon energies to the automatons he made. 

 

“Only one, now,” said Will. 

 

“No,” said Mortmain, seeming pleased to know something Will and Jem didn’t. “Her sister brought her back with a necromantic charm. They’re going to animate the automatons, tonight, but not with De Quincey.” He rattled off a street and house number. “De Quincey is still in hiding - he wouldn’t risk it.” 

 

Jem nodded, thoughtful. “I see,” he said. “We’ll take that under consideration, then.” 

 

“You aren’t going to do anything about it?” 

 

Will rolled his eyes. “We’ll take it under consideration. Goodnight, Mr. Mortmain.” 

 

With that, Will shut the door in his face. 

  
  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It would be too long if I started in on the other scenes, I think, so I split it here before any action could start.


	15. Or Warriors, Martyrs, Hero's Toils

 

As soon as the carriage was out of sight, Tessa turned to Will.

 

“What are you going to do?”

 

“Go after them, of course,” he said, eyes glittering. “If what Mortmain says is right, the Enclave could be walking into a slaughter. We can’t warn them, not in time, or if we could, any messenger we sent would be killed along with the rest.”

 

“What if what he says is wrong?” Tessa put a hand to the angel at her throat. Something about this wasn’t right, but she couldn’t say what. Perhaps she was just nervous about two more people going off to fight.

 

“It might be,” said Jem. “But if it isn’t, and we ignored him, the consequence to the Enclave…”

 

Jem was right, and she knew it. Her heart sank anyway. “Then let me fight,” she said, and Chali once again became the warhorse he had been on the bridge. Will looked up at him with an impressed glance. “I was there when you fought them before -”

 

Will just sighed. “No. We don’t have time to prepare a plan, we just have to go in and fight, and you have no training.”

 

“I’ll go as Camille, she can fight!”

 

“You said when you were practicing that you can’t always feel her. We can’t risk it.”

 

Frustrated, Tessa turned to Jem for assistance, but he only shook his head. “Will’s right,” he said, as kind as ever, but he didn’t yield.

 

Chali snorted out a heavy breath, but became a finch again. It had, Tessa thought, gotten to the point where she didn’t even startle when he changed form. He simply did as he pleased, shifting with her moods, and that was, almost, normal. As it had been when she was young.

 

She didn’t dwell on it, though, merely turning with an irritated sigh and walking to the weapons room to help prepare.

 

* * *

 

It was almost full night by the time they had finished preparing. Will and Jem stood in the courtyard next to the carriage, drawing runes for strength and night vision and speed on each others’ arms and hands. Tessa had slipped quietly out after them, watching from the top of the Institute steps. Her stomach felt hollow.

 

She watched as Will began drawing a new rune on Jem’s forearm, and then as Jem did the same in return. Their faces were pale and set in the moonlight, and Will rolled Jem’s sleeve back down without looking away from Jem’s eyes. He looked tense, a little uncertain, and, as usual, a little sad.

 

After a moment, Will leaned up and kissed him, as if it was the only thing left that Will could do.

 

Tessa expected to feel pain, or embarrassment, or jealous anger - Will didn’t push _Jem_ away in panic - but she didn’t. Instead, she felt something like tenderness, and something like fear.

 

She loved them, she realized helplessly. For all its uselessness, the feeling was there. She didn’t want to, and it was only going to be an inconvenience to her later, but it was true.

 

What if they never came back?

 

“They will,” said Chali, from her shoulder. “And they care about you, too.”

 

Tessa stared at him. “No they don’t. Will certainly doesn’t. And even Jem… I’ve barely _been_ here long enough to care about.”

 

Chali shrugged his wings in an oddly human gesture. In the shadows, Tessa raised her hand as if to wave goodbye, though she knew they couldn’t see her.

 

Perhaps they could, though. They broke apart at that moment, and seemed to sense something, because first Jem, then Will looked up towards the top of the steps. Will’s eyes were wide, but Jem merely smiled, and for a moment all three of them looked at each other.

 

It was silent. Will looked at Tessa as if he had just woken up from a very surreal dream and wasn’t sure if he was in reality or not, but it was Jem who moved, gracefully climbing the steps. He looked healthy, flushed - she wondered how much of the drug he had taken, tonight.

 

“Tessa,” he said.

 

“I didn’t mean to spy on you,” she said hastily, but he just laughed a little. She wondered, with a touch of panic, if Jem could tell her feelings on her face. He wouldn’t mock her for them, but she didn’t think she could bear a refusal in Jem’s kind, gentle way. She wondered how long it would be before her infatuation with the both of them ended and she could look him in the eye again, but something told her that it ran deeper than that.

 

“It’s all right,” he said, smiling. He didn’t try to explain the kiss, or to scold her for not saying something to alert them to her presence. Mela nuzzled Chali’s side with her nose.

 

“It seems odd to let you leave without saying anything at all,” she said, willing her voice not to break and give her away.

 

Jem looked at her, curious. Then, to her intense confusion, he took her hand and kissed the back of it. “Mizpah.”

 

When she looked at him without understanding, he just shrugged. “It’s some old biblical story, I think. A way of saying goodbye without saying goodbye.”

 

Tessa’s heart rose a bit. She nodded, slightly, and was rewarded with Jem’s moonbeam smile.

 

Will looked up at them, his eyes soft. There was love in them, Tessa thought, but also that same, ever-present sadness. Like the amusement that was only skin-deep, there was always a sadness around Will.

 

Then Jem had hurried back down the steps, back to Will’s side, and they were climbing into the front of carriage, Will holding the reins.

 

Tessa watched them go until the wheels rattled out of sight.

 

* * *

 

After standing outside for far too long in silence, watching the stars rise, Tessa returned to the front room of the Institute. Sophie and Agatha were talking quietly nearby, lighting the occasional candle or witchlight. There was a peace to it, she thought, despite the worry eating at her.

 

Despite Tessa’s offer to help, Agatha went to close the heavy main doors alone, pausing whatever the conversation had been about. She had just pushed them fully shut when the leftmost knob began to turn.

 

Sophie stared at it, perplexed. “They can’t be back so soon -”

 

The doors swung wide. Agatha, still braced against the door, looked up at a tall figure.

 

“Oh,” she said, and then metal flashed and there was a horrible scream, abruptly choked off. Sophie rushed forwards, and Tessa stared, trying to make sense of what she was seeing.

 

The door was open, a clockwork automaton silhouetted in the candlelight. It was horribly familiar, with its hand stretched out, the skin peeled back to show metal that had been dipped in blood. _Jem’s blood_ , she thought, with a wave of angry panic. Agatha was trying to back away, but couldn’t - something was preventing her.

 

No. The automaton had driven a sword directly through Agatha’s chest. She was pinned, for a terrible moment, until it withdrew its blade. Then she fell to the ground, blood streaming over her chest and stomach.

 

Sophie screamed. The automaton turned, without another word, and went back into the courtyard. Tessa moved on instinct, slamming the doors closed and locking them as Chali became a little monkey, pulling frantically on the summoning bell.

 

Why was it here? _How_ was it here? And why had it withdrawn?

 

Still numb with shock, she helped Sophie carry Agatha across the room. Sophie fell to her knees, tearing strips of cloth from her apron and pressing them over Agatha’s wound, and said in a tone of wild panic, “I don’t understand. I don’t understand, it can’t. It can’t open the doors. None but those with Nephilim blood can open the doors. I don’t understand.”

 

 _But it did have Nephilim blood_. In a literal sense, at least. Was that enough? And, she realized with a sick dread, did that mean it could come back whenever it pleased?

 

The thought had barely occurred to her when the bar holding the door closed snapped in two. Sophie jumped, crying out, but didn’t leave Agatha’s side.

 

Where one metal creature had stood, there was now an army.

 

Tessa staggered backwards. Agatha made a weak noise and tried to push Sophie back with her hands, but was far too injured to put any pressure behind it - Sophie refused to move. Footsteps clattered on the stairs, and then Thomas burst into the room.

 

The automatons were spilling in, forming lines. Once they arrived at some predetermined spot, they froze, still as chess pieces, making Tessa’s skin crawl. They weren’t human-looking, these ones - they seemed _unfinished_ , bare metal grafted to skin in harsh lines. She still felt slow with shock, as if she were in a nightmare where her movements were as sluggish as if she were caught in amber. But there behind Thomas was Jessamine, her parasol in hand, and Nate, looking terrified but stoic.

 

“Agatha-” Sophie’s voice broke. The cook was still, her eyes unfocused. Her snake daemon - Tessa had never learned its name - flickered out.

 

Jessamine looked pained, for a moment, then turned to Thomas. “Get her on her feet, she’ll listen to you.” Her tone was commanding. Not like Charlotte’s, but still startling enough that Thomas looked at her, wide-eyed, before obeying. He coaxed Sophie up to her feet, and she clung to him, weeping.

 

“Miss Lovelace,” he said, eyes on the motionless automatons. “I think you should get Miss Gray and Sophie to the Sanctuary, quickly.”

 

Jessamine nodded, and reached for Tessa’s hand, but then a drawling voice spoke from behind her.

 

“No,” it said, and it was so recently familiar that Tessa flinched. “Certainly you may do as you like with the servant girl, but Miss Gray and her brother will be remaining here.”

 

With the heaviness still pulling at her limbs, Tessa turned.

 

Among the creatures, as if he had just appeared there from nowhere, stood a man. An ordinary-looking man, with tanned, weathered features, and a green, lizard-looking daemon that was slowly, surely turning blue.

 

Mortmain.

 

He was smiling.

 

“Nathaniel Gray,” he said. “Well done. I’m proud of you.”

 

Tessa stared at him, uncomprehending. She didn’t understand Jessamine’s furious cry, or Thomas’ inhale of shock. Chali was blinking, stunned, curled up on her shoulder.

 

She only realized what he meant when Nate, her brother, walked forward and knelt at Mortmain’s feet.

 

* * *

 

By the time Will and Jem reached the address Mortmain had given them, the moon had risen. It illuminated much of London below them - the address was in Highgate, on a hill - and made Will think of a dream city, bathed in clouds. There was a poem he’d read about it, but it evaded him.

 

The building itself was abandoned-looking, ramshackle and crumbling in places where it had once been a grand mansion. It was cold - but then it always was, in Highgate. The entire place had been built over mass graves, and there were enough shades and spirits to feel, even if you didn’t have a knack for that sort of thing. Which Will, unfortunately, did.

 

Will shook his head as they approached, ignoring Jem’s curious look once they reached the doors. He half-expected the doors to be locked, but they weren’t, swinging open easily at the first touch. Issalinde’s fur was bristling about it, but he didn’t have the focus to calm her down. Instead, he walked through the doorway, Jem at his heels, into a run-down foyer.

 

This, too, was empty and crumbling. A curved staircase lay at one end, a heavy chandelier hung from the ceiling, and everything was covered with a thin layer of dirt. Will and Jem stood back-to-back, feet on broken marble floor, through which plants were growing. Cracked, grand windows lined the room.

 

Someone was singing. High and clear, high enough that the glass rattled.

 

“ _Someone’s_ here, at least,” said Will, forcing lightness into his voice even as Issalinde’s ears flattened to her head. Mela had pulled herself back onto her hind legs, glaring around the room.

 

Then someone appeared at the top of the staircase. It took Will a moment to recognize Mrs. Dark, as she was wrapped in a long cloak, an unlit lantern swinging from her hand. The eerie singing broke off as she caught sight of them, and she smiled a curved grin.

 

“Naughty, naughty,” she said. “Breaking into my house like this.” The lantern swung, and Will felt an unpleasant shock. It was no lantern - she was holding her sister’s severed head, a plait of grayish hair wrapped around her fingers. The head’s eyes were open, milky, and so was its mouth - a line of dried blood hung from the corner of its lips.

 

Jem grimaced. “I thought,” he said under his breath to Will, “the other was alive?”

 

“Maybe this one brought her back to life and then chopped her head off,” said Will, falling into the automatic sarcasm that came from discomfort. “Seems a lot of work for no real gain, but who can say?”

 

Mrs. Dark snarled at this. “You weren’t content with killing her the first time, and now you break in here to prevent me from giving her a second life? What difference does it make to you? Surely there are darker crimes in London tonight than my poor attempts to bring my sister back.”

 

Mela bristled. Will agreed - something wasn’t right.

 

“Necromancy may be against the Law,” said Jem, “but so is binding demon energies. And that’s far more important.”

 

Mrs. Dark blinked at them. The look of confusion on her face seemed genuine. “What?”

 

“Your plan,” said Will. “There’s no need to play dumb. We know what De Quincey is doing -”

 

But he was interrupted by a laugh. “De Quincey? _De Quincey?_ That poncing, prancing bloodsucker?” Still laughing, she flung the head down towards Will. He ducked, with a shout of disgust, but it rolled to his boot, staring blindly up at him. As he jumped back, Mrs. Dark ran past them and through a door on the west side of the foyer.

 

Will looked down at the head. One eyelid had drooped closed, and its tongue protruded past its purple lips. “I may be sick,” he said.

 

“No time for that,” said Issalinde, and Jem nodded. In another moment, they were running after her.


	16. Ever the Ateliers, the Factories Divine

Tessa’s mind was working slowly. It was the only explanation. Surely there was a perfectly good reason this was happening, and she was just overwhelmed and couldn’t see it. She wasn’t surprised that she was in shock, after all of this. Someone had to be able to explain.

 

“Nate?” she said, but he ignored her. The only effect her voice had was for Mortmain to turn to her, smiling coldly. 

 

“Seize the shape-changer,” he said, and the creatures seemed to lurch back to life. One reached around her chest, restraining her easily. Had she fought it? She wasn’t sure. Chali shrieked, trying to scratch at her assailant, but another automaton clapped metal hands around him. 

 

Fully around him, entangling in his feathers and making her head spin as if she couldn’t get enough air.

 

Tessa shuddered and cried out, weakly. It wasn’t right. It hurt, yes, but deeper than that, she felt sick to her core. Jessamine inhaled sharply, and her eyes held pity in them, but Tessa couldn’t think about that. The  _ thing  _ had Chalivan, it  _ had _ him, she needed it to  _ stop  _ touching him - 

 

“Nate,” she choked out, again. She couldn’t see - was she crying? She knew she was trying to reach out, to pick Chali up, but her arms were pinned tight. “Nate, help me, help him -” 

 

Her brother looked at her, from where he still knelt on the floor, and smiled. 

 

Jessamine whirled on him. So far, she and Sophie had been ignored by the clockwork creatures, who seemed intent only on Tessa. “Who is this? Why are you kneeling to him?” 

 

“He is the Magister,” said Nate. “And I am one of his chosen. His favored.” 

 

It was something out of Tessa’s books, a line a knight might say in the stories she had read to him years ago. It caught her attention despite the sickening pain and the tears on her cheeks, but before she could say anything, Jessamine was scoffing. 

 

“Chosen to kneel on the ground,” she said, and Nate scrambled to his feet, shouting something Tessa couldn’t make sense of. Dark spots were swimming in front of her vision, and she had to wonder how long she could endure this pain for. How long Chali could endure it. She felt him, trying to change, to break free, but still paralyzed by the  _ wrongness _ of the metal surrounding him. 

 

Something whirred at her throat. 

Tessa was hallucinating, then, she was sure. Before her hazy eyes, the little clockwork angel that had been her mother’s was lifting up, its wings beating so fast they were a blur. The chain holding it around her neck snapped, and then its wings were spread wide, and she saw with a shock that each feather was sharp, razor-sharp like Jessie’s parasol. 

 

It sliced through the skin and metal keeping Chali imprisoned with a shower of red sparks. 

 

The automaton stumbled back, its arms jerking. Mortmain, noticing a beat too late, began to shout, and other clockwork creatures sprang forward. 

 

Chali, this time, didn’t run to her chest the way he had always done after an imprisonment or a bad Change. No sooner was he free than he had shifted with a furious cry into the warhorse, dashing at metal with sharp hooves. 

 

She was proud of him. Proud of herself. 

 

“Tessa! Get out of the way!” It was Jessamine. Thomas stood in front of her now, a sword in his hand. He struck out, frantically attempting to keep their assailants at bay. Jessamine, too, was fighting, her parasol in her hand. Mortmain swore. 

 

“Get rid of the Nephilim,” he said, voice tight. One metal creature extended its hand, sparks flying from a gash on its arm. It was with that arm that it touched her, and the electricity knocked her backwards, her parasol skittering away. Jessie lay, twitching, eyes open and unfocused. 

 

And then Nate laughed. 

 

Tessa, suddenly, was struck with a bolt of hatred, stronger than she’d ever believed she could feel towards her own blood. She wanted to rip her nails into Nate’s face, kick and punch him until he screamed. It wouldn’t take much. He had used to cry from skinned knees. 

 

“Miss Gray!” Thomas spoke through a heavy breath. It broke through her blind fury for a moment. “Take Sophie to the Sanctuary!” 

 

She didn’t want to run. Chali was still screaming, beyond enraged. But Sophie was covered in Agatha’s blood. 

 

So Tessa seized her by the wrist, and they ran.    
  


* * *

 

Will stumbled a bit on his way through the archway into the next room. Jem was already there, having stopped, staring around him. There were no exits from the room other than the one they’d just come through, but Mrs. Dark was nowhere to be seen. 

 

The room had been a dining hall, once, though there was no table in it. Instead, the cracked marble floor was bare, painted with patterns and a large pentagram. Portraits lined the walls, torn to shreds. Another chandelier swayed overhead. 

 

Inside the pentagram was a stone statue of a demon, the sort mundanes would think of if someone asked them to describe one, all twisted arms and claws and curling goat horns. 

 

Around the room, bits of skin and bone were scattered. A few empty cages lay on their sides. 

 

“This,” said Will, “isn’t a binding spell. Nothing about this is a binding spell.” 

 

“She  _ was  _ trying to bring back her sister,” said Jem, seeming more concerned with the fact that their quarry had vanished. If Will was sensible, he would have been too, but Will had never been sensible in his life, and he didn’t plan to start then. A sneaking, dark suspicion had begun to take hold in him. 

 

Jem, meanwhile, was looking for signs of life. “There’s a cat,” he said. “In one of the cages.” 

 

“And?” There was. It was a bristling, gray thing with yellow eyes - no one’s daemon, just an alley cat. Mela had already trotted nearer, blinking at it curiously. “We have more to worry about -” 

 

Jem, being Jem, had already picked up the cage and was peering in. The cat hissed at him, then bristled further, its eyes focused on the pentagram. 

 

Will and Jem whirled around. The statue had moved. 

 

It was standing upright, now, and smiling, its eyes open in its stonelike face. Foolish, foolish, foolish, to ignore it without investigating. Will threw a seraph blade on instinct, not fully expecting it to work - and indeed, it bounced off the air above the pentagram and clattered to the floor. 

 

“You attack me here?” said the demon, in a familiar voice. “It will hardly do you any good.” 

 

Will sighed, but it was Jem who spoke. “Mrs. Dark. We thought you were a warlock.” 

 

“My sister was,” she said, and cracks formed around her mouth as it moved, “but I am Eidolon. Shape-changer, like your precious Tessa’s father, and the girl herself. But unlike her, I cannot feel who I become. And so he did not want me.” There was a sliver of hurt in her voice.

 

“You can’t stay in the pentagram forever.” Though Jem’s voice betrayed nothing, he and Will had both noticed the slip. Tessa’s father was a demon, but that didn’t explain her talent, or her lack of a warlock’s mark. Will would think about it later. “Eventually, the Enclave will starve you out.” 

 

“I fear the Magister far more.” She turned, and she truly did seem unafraid. In Will’s experience, when someone who was supposed to be afraid  _ wasn’t _ , it meant they were either exceptionally brave, or they knew something you didn’t. He was willing to bet on the latter. 

 

“So you won’t tell us who the Magister is,” said Will. “Fine. Is Axel Mortmain the Magister?” 

 

The sudden shock and fear on the demon’s face told him all he needed to know. He heard Jem’s sharp breath beside him - in fact, Will was surprised Jem hadn’t figured it out first. Jem was cleverer than he was, he suspected. But then, he did lack Will’s habit of assuming the absolute worst of people and proceeding from there. 

 

“Mortmain lied,” said Jem, quiet. “Pointed the finger at De Quincey, probably planted the plans in his house. Kept us occupied chasing him. But then… Nate told us that he was the Magister as well.” 

 

“When two people tell the same lie...” said Will, but didn’t finish. He didn’t really need to. 

 

Mrs. Dark laughed. “He sold his sister to the Magister, you know.” She had evidently decided there was no further use in keeping quiet. “For thirty silver pieces. I would never have treated my own sister so, yet you say it’s our kind who are evil.” 

 

Will ignored this. Nate was the one who had sent Henry and Charlotte, the entire Enclave, out on a fool’s errand. Fear made his blood cold. “What will the Enclave find when they reach De Quincey’s hideout?” There was only silence, and his voice cracked.  _ “Answer me! _ Or I’ll make sure the Clave tortures you for months, no, for years, before you finally die. What is he planning? Why did he do this?” 

 

A quiet laugh. “What has the Magister always wanted? He despises Nephilim, yes, but what does he  _ want _ ?” 

 

“Tessa,” said Kasimela, quiet. If Will’s blood had run cold before, now he felt made of ice. 

 

“She’s safe inside the Institute,” said Jem. “It’s a fortress, even his army of machines can’t enter it - the doors will keep anyone out without -” He froze. Will turned to him. 

 

“James?” 

 

“My blood,” he said. “ _ My _ blood.” 

 

For the moment it took Will to understand, he stood frozen. Then, just as he realized it with a horrible jolt, the doors to the room slammed shut. 

 

Mrs. Dark was laughing more loudly from within the pentagram. “Foolish,” she crooned. “Foolish Nephilim. Where is your angel now?” 

 

As they stared at her in shock, fire began to leap around the walls. Blue-green fire, its smoke thick and cloying. Jem grimaced, scanning frantically for a way out, before catching Will’s arm. 

 

“Kill her,” he said, “and the fire will die.” 

 

“Don’t you think I would if I could? She’s behind the pentagram!” 

 

“I  _ know _ . Bring it down.” 

 

And suddenly, Will understood what he meant. Over the roaring of the flames, Jem began to chip at the lines on the floor, as if to attempt to break the seal. It wouldn’t work, and they all knew it. Mrs. Dark’s laughter rose still higher at his efforts, sounding delighted, but it was the moment of distraction Will needed to throw a blade and shear right through the top of the chandelier. 

 

He’d always sort of wanted to bring a chandelier down, he thought idly. Especially since he’d fallen off of the sideboard trying to keep one up. 

 

The crash was truly spectacular. The floor jolted below them, rattling, and the crystal made a deafening, discordant chime. Once the room had finished shaking, dust was rising like smoke from the wreck on the floor, but Jem had been right - the flames were gone. From one corner, a trickle of greenish blood ran across the marble. 

 

Jem was still holding the damn cat’s cage. He had plaster dust in his hair, making it even whiter than usual, and he looked at Will for a moment, as if he wanted to say something they both already knew. 

 

“Nicely done, William,” he said instead, and Will allowed a smile before he threw the doors open and hurried from the room. 

 

“We have to get back,” he said as they burst onto the lawn. 

 

“You’ll find no argument from me.” The horses hadn’t bolted at all the noise, and Will jumped onto the seat, fiddling with their halters. He looked back at Jem, frowning - Jem was more flushed than he should have been, even after a fight. The drug, the yin fen, had worn off quicker than ever. Even Mela’s eyes were in their dangerously half-lidded state. 

 

It wasn’t enough to hurt Jem, not yet. Will knew from terrible experience exactly when his parabatai was in danger. But it shouldn’t have worn off for hours yet. 

 

The thought sent a bolt of panic through him, but with his fear for Charlotte, and Henry, and Tessa, and even Thomas and Jessamine and Sophie, he hardly registered it, save to make a split-second decision. He wouldn’t let Jem push himself to the point where he  _ was _ in danger. And he could arrive far faster on one horse than by carriage. 

 

Will reached up and cut one horse free as Jem stared. 

 

“I’m going back to the Institute. Xanthos can carry the carriage perfectly well on his own.” 

 

“Ah,” said Jem. “I see. You’re going to ride off on that horse like a bat out of hell and leave me here. Have you gone mad?” 

 

“I thought you wanted to look after the cat.” Issalinde was already settling herself inside the front of Will’s gear shirt. 

 

“William.” Jem was angry, now, his tone carrying that small bit of steel. He had understood what Will was trying to do. Will should have known that it was only a matter of time. “That’s not your decision-” 

 

But Will had already swung onto the horse, wound his hands into its mane, and spurred it on, streaking off back down the hill and into the heart of London.

 

* * *

 

Tessa and Sophie ran. Sophie wasn’t much help in directing them, but Tessa was amazed to realize that the twisting corridors were no longer the maze she’d known them to be. Sometime before all of this, she’d learned her way. 

 

Chali ran beside them as a greyhound, occasionally nosing at Tessa to keep going, keep running. So they did, until they finally arrived at the door with its ornate handle, and Sophie stopped abruptly. 

 

“It’s locked,” she said dully, and seemed to take a moment to pull herself together. “Mrs. Branwell keeps the key in her study.” 

 

Tessa felt another wave of irritation, but pushed it away. Sophie had just had a friend die in her arms. “You know where to find it?” They had long since lost any sound of pursuit. And, Tessa thought grimly, she was only too happy to fight if needed. “Can you get it?” 

 

She nodded. “I’ll get it.” Without another word, Sophie had run down the corridor, leaving Tessa in silence. 

 

She put her back to the door and watched the shadows that moved around her, adrenaline making her heart pound. Her mind was swimming - not that she expected anything different, she supposed. She kept seeing the blood pouring out of Agatha’s chest, kept hearing Nate’s laughter when Jessamine collapsed. 

 

And then it echoed through the hall again. 

 

Nate. 

 

He stepped out of the shadows, looking none the worse for wear. He had a grin plastered across his face, and a long, thin knife in his hand. Faela sat on his shoulder, chittering. Tessa didn’t have the room for fear - but she did stop to consider that she had no weapon. 

 

She spoke, instead. He still hadn’t moved to strike at her with the knife, and Mortmain wanted her alive. “Nate,” she said, quiet. “You can still stop this.”

 

“Stop  _ what _ ?” He asked. “Stop acquiring knowledge and power? Stop being in favor with the most powerful man in London? I’d be a fool to stop all this.” 

 

“In favor?” She felt for the doorknob behind her, as if in hope that it would magically cease to be locked. It didn’t. “He was going to let De Quincey drain your blood.” 

 

“I’d disappointed him,” said Nate, shrugging loosely. “You’d escaped from the Dark Sisters, even when they told you what it would cost me. Your sisterly affection leaves something to be desired.” 

 

Tessa’s vision went red for a moment. She forced it back, but couldn’t hold in the words. “I let them torture me for your sake! I did  _ everything _ for you, Nate. And you - you lied! You -”   _ You hurt me, _ she wanted to say.  _ I wanted you to be the one I could trust, my blood.  _ But she didn’t say that. “You’re mad,” she finished. “You’re not some favored disciple, you’re a tool that he’s using. 

He’ll toss you away. Aunt always used to say you were too trusting - for all that you lie, you’re terrible at telling when you’re being lied to.” 

 

“Ah, yes,” he said. “Aunt Harriet. Pity how she died. Poisoned chocolates I sent - you never could stand the taste of chocolate, could you, Tessie?” 

 

Tessa froze, pain twisting in her chest. She’d think that she heard wrong, but something in her had hardened over the course of the night, had stopped believing that the brother she’d thought she had and this grinning  _ thing _ were the same person. 

 

If they were, she didn’t want to think about how Nate had fallen so far. She couldn’t keep being surprised by his ability to hurt, not if she wanted to survive this herself. 

 

“She loved you,” said Tessa, her voice small. 

 

“She thought of me as a fool!” Nate’s grin had finally faltered a bit. “And so did you. Your foolish brother who needed to be protected from the world, who would never be worth anything. So easily taken advantage of, so weak. You both thought I didn’t have the  _ ability _ , the potential even, to ever be as pure and good as you. It didn’t matter what I did, I’d never make anything of myself. But now I have.” 

 

“You’ve made yourself a murderer,” said Tessa. There was a blur of movement behind Nate’s head.  _ Sophie _ . “I’m ashamed to be related to you.” 

 

“Related to me? You’re not even human! You’re some  _ thing _ .” 

 

“You’re my brother.” Her voice didn’t shake. “You’re still my brother.” 

 

“I am not a fool -” 

 

And then the blur behind Nate burst into movement again. Some pale object rose above his head, coming down on him with a crash, sending him crumpling to the ground. The blade rolled from his hand, and Tessa looked up. 

 

Jessamine stood over him, a broken lamp in her hands. There were bruises blossoming on her face, and her dress was torn where she’d hit the ground earlier, but her face was set. She kicked him with a toe, Jascuro haughty on her shoulder. “Not a fool, perhaps,” she said, “but not your most shining moment, either.”  

 

“ _ Jessamine?” _

 

Jessie dropped the lamp, which barely missed hitting Nate in the head again. There was a fragile vulnerability behind her eyes, the same thing Tessa had seen in the park - Jessamine was not willing to be a warrior. But it didn’t affect her voice in the slightest. 

 

“I’m quite all right, if that’s what you’re so pop-eyed about,” she said in her usual dismissive way. “It’s you they want, not me.” 

 

“Miss Gray! Miss Lovelace!” Sophie rounded the corner at a sprint. She skidded to a stop when she saw Nate’s slumped form on the floor. “Is… he all right?” 

 

“Oh, who  _ cares  _ if he’s all right,” huffed Jessamine. “Don’t just stand there, Sophie. Let us in, before God knows what tries to kill us again.” 

  
  
  



	17. The Body Lurking There Within Thy Body

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warning for blood and stabbing. Lots of blood and stabbing.

  
  


The Sanctuary, now, was dark. There were no candles burning, only a bit of witchlight in sconces in the walls. The angel statue kept weeping endlessly into the fountain, and the air was cold. 

 

Or perhaps it was just Tessa who was cold. Chali pressed against her legs, tail down, and she put a hand on his head. 

 

Sophie looked as nervous as Tessa felt, but she locked the door behind them, looking around at the shadows on the walls. Her little daemon, round-eyed and soft and mouselike yet not quite a mouse at all, was pressed into her scarred cheek. Jessamine sighed, flinging herself into a chair, but then stood again almost immediately and began to wash some of the grime and blood from her face. 

 

Tessa felt, almost despite herself, impressed. And somewhat indebted to Jessamine, as well. Knowing now what it had taken for Jessie to fight at all, she mustered up a slight smile for her. It was returned with no hesitation.

 

“We won’t be here for long, I’m sure,” she said, once she’d shaken the water from her dainty hands. “ _ Someone  _ will be along to rescue us. Charlotte, or Will, or -” 

 

“And find the Institute full of clockwork monsters,” said Tessa. “And Mortmain.” 

 

The smile faded, and their moment of peace with it, to be replaced with a sour expression. “Well, you needn’t sound as if it’s  _ my _ fault. If it weren’t for you, we wouldn’t be in this mess.” 

 

“That’s not very kind,” said Sophie, sharply. 

 

Jessamine only brushed at the dampness on her dress. “Perhaps not, but it’s true. The only reason he’s here is because of Tessa.” 

 

“I know,” said Tessa, quiet. “This is my fault.” 

 

If she’d hoped that would dissuade Jessamine, she was wrong. “Charlotte’s too soft-hearted to get rid of you. Henry, too. And Will thinks he’s Galahad, trying to save everyone, and Jem isn’t practical. If I’d been in charge I’d have sent you out, and maybe Agatha and Thomas would still be alive -” 

 

Sophie went pale, her scar standing out. “Thomas?” 

 

Jessamine froze. “I didn’t mean that.” 

 

Tessa glared at her. “What happened, Jessamine? You were injured -” 

 

“And precious little you did about it.” Jascuro huffed at them from Jessie’s shoulder. “When I came to, all of you had gone but Thomas. He was surrounded, and he told me to run, so... I ran.” 

 

Sophie’s eyes flashed. “You left him? Alone?” 

 

“I’m a lady. It’s expected he sacrifice himself for my safety.” 

 

“That’s rubbish!” Tessa had never heard Sophie shout at Jessamine before, but she was glad of it now. It saved her from shouting herself. “You’re  _ Nephilim _ ! And Thomas is human, you should have helped him! You could have! You just  _ wouldn’t _ , because you’re selfish!” 

 

Jessamine gaped at Sophie. Before she could reply, though, there was a rattling at the door. 

 

“Tessa? Tessa, Sophie? Are you in there?” 

 

Will’s voice. 

 

“Oh, thank god,” said Jessamine, turning back. “We’re in here, Will!” She started to remove the lock from the door.

 

Tessa’s stomach dropped. She wasn’t sure why, but Chali’s hackles were up, and something in her was shouting that this wasn’t right. 

 

“Jessie,” she said. “Don’t open the door -” 

 

But it was too late. The door had swung open, and Mortmain stood on the other side. 

 

Jessamine jumped back. Nate was standing beside Mortmain, a makeshift bandage around his head. He’d torn the cloth from the bottom of his shirt - no,  _ Jem _ ’ _ s  _ shirt. Something about that set Tessa’s blood to boiling again, but Nate was glaring at Jessamine. 

 

“You stupid whore,” he said, blunt and furious, and started forward. 

 

“Nathaniel,” said Mortmain, making him freeze. “This is not the place for your petty revenges. Go fetch what I need.” 

 

Nate hesitated, but turned to do as he was told. For a moment, he locked eyes with Tessa, and she tried to put all her fury and hate into her gaze before he left the room. Then the door closed behind him. 

 

“Now, the two of you,” said Mortmain, looking at Sophie and Jessamine. “Get out.” His daemon was turning, now, from blue to red. Was he a warlock, then? But it hadn’t changed shape, only coloration, and Tessa realized that it was merely a chameleon, a creature she’d read about before. A shape-changer in its own right. 

 

“We won’t.” The voice was Sophie’s, but to Tessa’s surprise, Jessamine didn’t seem inclined to leave either. “Not without her.” 

 

Mortmain shrugged. “Very well, then.” He turned to the automatons, which had followed him in. “The Nephilim and the servant,” he said to them. “Kill them both.” 

 

“ _ No, _ ” Tessa said, as Jessamine turned to run, but in another moment they were both held tightly in metal confines. Sophie struggled furiously, her feet dangling in the air like a criminal at the end of a rope. “Stop it, stop it!” 

 

“I could,” said Mortmain. “If you don’t try to run again.” 

 

“Of course not,” she promised, without stopping to think. “You have my word. Let them go.” 

 

A silence, that stretched for a horrible moment. And then, “Let them go,” he said. “Take them out of the room, and don’t harm them.” He smiled, thin and sharp. “As for you, Miss Gray, you and I have something to discuss.” 

 

* * *

 

Will knew something was wrong the moment the Institute came into view. The horse was panting, streaked with lather, and glared at him when he slid in an ungainly tumble from its back, but he didn’t have time to dwell on it - the doors of the Institute were open. Wide open. 

 

His skin crawled with the sense that something, something very bad, had happened. Issalinde brushed her head against him, trying to soothe, but he didn’t have time for that either. Instead, he took the steps at a run and almost tripped over Agatha’s body. 

 

She lay on her back, glassy eyes staring upwards, dress soaked in blood. Lightheaded with rage and panic, Will bent down and closed her eyes. 

 

He tasted blood. He’d bitten through his lip. 

 

The signs of a fight were everywhere - metal, bent gears, splashes of blood. Yet it was eerily, terribly silent in the entryway. As Will hurried towards the stairs at a run, he stepped on the twisted remains of Jessamine’s parasol. 

 

God. Were they all - 

 

No. He couldn’t think about it. He had to keep going. He started up the stairs.

 

And there, slumped along the lowest few steps, was Thomas, eyes closed, in a widening pool of red. His sword was beside him, chipped and dented, and a jagged piece of metal protruded from his chest, which didn’t seem to be moving. Will crouched down by Thomas’ side, throat burning. He had known Enclave members to die before, and seen some killed in battle - their life was a dangerous one. But it had never been someone he’d trained with, who had lived in the Institute with him. His chest knotted in pain. 

 

_ “Ave atque vale, _ Thomas,” he said, choked. 

 

Thomas’ eyes fluttered. They were filmy, glazed, but still cognizant. “Not,” he said, with great effort.  “Nephilim.” 

 

“You fought as well as any of us would have done,” said Will, frantically looking for something to say. He wanted to reassure Thomas, to tell him to hold on, that he’d be all right when the others got there. But he wouldn’t. He was human - no healing runes would work on him, and his chest was already black with blood, barely rising and falling. 

 

“No. You’d’ve fought them off.” 

 

“Thomas…” Will didn’t know what to do. Moving him would cause more pain, surely, but he wouldn’t leave him to die alone. 

 

“She’s alive,” said Thomas, after another labored breath. 

 

“Who?” His heart thudded. 

 

“Her. Tessa.” A wet cough. “The one you came back for. She’s with Sophie.” He half-smiled, or perhaps it was a grimace of pain. Will’s eyes burned. Surely there was something he could do to make this better - but Will suspected there were few situations his presence didn’t make worse. He was no comfort on a deathbed. 

 

He was saved from having to say anything to ease his mind. Thomas exhaled, and didn’t breathe again. His eyes fluttered closed. 

 

“Sleep, then,” Will said, after a moment, his voice twisted with sadness. “Thank you.” It wasn’t enough, not even close to enough, but he got to his feet and dashed up the staircase. 

 

* * *

 

Mortmain looked at Tessa from a few steps away, quite calm. There was nothing in his eyes that gave away any thoughts - was he angry? Excited? Disappointed? He merely looked… ordinary. Dark-haired, going gray. Bright-eyed. Normal. 

 

Her thoughts were disjointed, in short fragments, but her mind was clear. 

 

“Miss Gray,” he said. “I’d hoped meeting you would be a more pleasant experience for us both.” 

 

Tessa ignored this. “What are you? A warlock?” 

 

“Merely a human.” 

 

“You imitated Will -” 

 

“A trick, like sleight of hand. No one ever expects it, certainly not Nephilim. They believe humans are good at nothing, as well as being good for nothing.” 

 

“No,” she said quietly. “They don’t believe that.” Chali was at her side once more, glaring at Mortmain as his usual self. Neither Mortmain nor his daemon spared him a glance. 

 

“How quickly you’ve grown to love your natural enemies. We’ll train you out of that.” He moved forward, and Tessa stepped back. “I won’t hurt you, Miss Gray. I merely want you to see this.” He rummaged in the pocket of his coat and produced a watch, hanging on a gold chain. It looked as ordinary as he did, and in good condition, though it had long since run down. The time stood forever at half-past three. 

 

It struck her with the odd desire to laugh as Mortmain held it out to her. 

 

“Please take this.” 

 

She shook her head. “I don’t want it.” 

 

He took another step forward, and Tessa took another step back. Her skirt brushed the edge of the fountain. “Take the watch, Miss Gray.” 

 

“What will it do to me?” 

 

“It will allow you to Change,” he said. “Into someone I very much want to speak with.” His voice was still even, but now there was an undercurrent of hunger that made Tessa’s skin crawl. “I know the Sisters taught you. I know you know your power. I  _ made _ you to be the only one in the world to do what you do.” 

 

“Made me?” Tessa’s blood went cold. “You’re not saying - you can’t be my father -” 

 

He laughed a short and humorless laugh. “Father? No. I am human, as I said, and you are more than that. There is no blood shared between the two of us, Miss Gray. I refer only to the fact that if it were not for me, you would not exist.” 

 

“I don’t understand.” 

 

“You don’t need to.” His daemon’s eyes narrowed. “You merely need to Change, and I am telling you to do so.  _ Now _ .” 

 

It was like standing in front of the Dark Sisters again. Frightened, her heart pounding, being told to draw up some part of herself that terrified her. Being shouted at to lose herself and be someone else. It would be easy to do as she was told, she thought. She knew her limits, now, knew her power. She was capable of obeying. 

 

“No,” she said, and once it was out, that word seemed to echo around the walls. 

 

Mortmain’s eyes narrowed, and his lips tightened. “What was that?” 

 

“No,” said Tessa. “Not until you tell me what you mean when you say you made me. Why am I like this? What do you need me for? I know you’re doing more than just building an army of monsters to entertain yourself, I’m not a fool like Nate.” 

 

Mortmain slid the watch back into his pocket. Slowly, deliberately, in a way that Tessa knew from the Sisters meant pain later. “No. You are not a fool like your brother. He is a fool and a coward, while you are a fool with some courage. But it won’t do you any good, and your friends will suffer for it. While you watch.” He turned towards the door. 

 

Tessa snatched up a knife from the wall behind the fountain. He glanced back over his shoulder with a scoff. “You can’t harm me with that.” 

 

“No,” said Tessa, steeling herself. She had read of heroines who did things like that which she was about to do. She always thought it a foolish way of going about saving the day. 

 

Still. It wasn’t as if she had much choice in the matter anymore. All she had was the information he’d given her, and that was enough to give her a bargaining chip, no matter how distasteful. “No, I can’t. But I’m one of a kind, you said? No one can do what I do. How long did it take you to make me?” She didn’t wait for an answer. “It would be a pity if all that work went to waste.” 

 

Mortmain understood a second too late. He lunged forward. 

 

Tessa dropped the knife into her chest. 

 

The first inch was agony. She had felt something similar, in Emma Bayliss’ memories, but in reality it was far, far worse. The pain forced a cry from her throat, and she bent forward, away from Mortmain, towards the fountain. 

 

_ Not yet. Not yet _ . She felt… cold, though her chest was warm with blood and white-hot with pain. The metal of the knife was so cold. 

 

Another half-inch. Mortmain was shouting, but she was hunched over the fountain now, and couldn’t see him. Her vision was a little hazy. 

 

_ Now. _ She reached inside herself, looking for a little girl who had been left to bleed out not so long ago. Emma’s blood spilled over her chest, along with her own, more blood than anyone could lose and live. Tessa pushed the knife the rest of the way in. 

 

If it had hurt before, it was nothing compared to now. She made a choked noise, but didn’t falter, and didn’t stop until she met resistance, and realized its hilt had stopped at her flesh. Blood bubbled around it. Blood was in her throat, in her mouth. 

 

It was not a sight, or a feeling, she’d soon forget. 

 

It was hard to move her hands through the blaze of pain. Still, Tessa wrenched the knife out of Emma’s chest, shuddering, and the gush of red spilled over her dress, into the water, blossoming in thick swirls. 

 

You weren’t meant to pull a knife out of a stab wound, and now she knew why. The pain and dizziness was too much, and she slumped down, to the floor next to the weeping angel fountain, the knife falling from her hand. She just wanted to lay down, to die, to find some way to endure this pain until it stopped, but she wasn’t done. She couldn’t stop. 

 

And then she reached for herself again, for the Tessa in her own body who still had a gash in her chest, but a survivable one. 

 

Hazily, she was almost grateful that the Dark Sisters had forced her to Change and Change and Change when she was so far past her body’s limits. It was thanks to them that, by the time Mortmain reached her side, her body was her own. Blood still pulsed slowly from her chest, but not so much. Not so badly. It was Emma’s blood that spread in an ever-growing pool around her now. 

 

The knife, red to the hilt, lay beside her. Chali whimpered, and did as she knew he would - became a flea. Too small by far to be seen. 

 

Mortmain screamed. 

 

Tessa waited. Her mind was swirling, thoughts slipping away from her. But no. She just had to stay alive. Stay alive, until Mortmain was gone. 

 

_ Stay alive, _ she thought.  _ It’s not even a bad wound. Blood loss. Probably shock. Am I in shock? That’s all.  _ Her breaths were shallow. This had been a horrible idea, but was it working? She didn’t know. She felt hands on her shoulders, shaking her roughly, sending jolts of pain up her chest. 

 

Still, she didn’t move, and still, she stayed alive. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm kind of over the "yes I will kill myself to vanquish the enemy" thing but in this case I suppose it does work 
> 
> Ah well 
> 
> My tumblr is graysheronstairs if you want to check it out


	18. Exalted, Rapt, Ecstatic

 

It took Jem some time to undo the damage Will had done to the reins of the carriage. 

 

Doing so hurt his wrists, the dry aching burn in his bones that told him he would need more of the drug before long. He fought off a frown, still irritated. It shouldn’t have been Will’s decision to try to protect him by running off. 

 

Will’s odd and sudden manifestations of protectiveness still needed work. 

Well. Perhaps if he wasn’t ill and weak, it wouldn’t have happened that way. Jem had more time than he needed to think about that as he rushed the horse back towards the Institute, Mela sitting atop the cat’s cage. Worry for Charlotte, Henry, Tessa, everyone in the Institute, needled at him as the streets went by. 

 

Tessa. She had looked so worried, standing above him on the steps. So shocked. He couldn’t forget the image of her, eyes wide when he had kissed her hand, and it made his heart ache a little. 

 

Now she was a part of this life, in danger as they all were. Jem sighed, trying to let the city air clear his head. He had thought, earlier, that if he could manage to cajole Will into actually talking to Tessa about the feelings he obviously had, and if Tessa was amenable… 

 

Though it was hardly the time for thoughts like that. He murmured to the horse to hurry still faster. 

 

In fact, he was grateful he did, for when he arrived, the door to the Institute was wide open. The  _ wrongness _ of it made him flinch, and he reached for his dragon-head cane as he slid from the driver’s bench, ignoring the way holding it made his hands ache. 

 

The  _ yin fen _ was wearing off too quickly. He should have had hours.

 

It was hardly the time for thoughts like those, either. Someone was coming down the steps. Not just someone, some four or five figures. He realized with a cold shock that they were automatons, daemonless and misshapen. Two of them held Sophie and Jessamine, mercifully alive, though bruised, struggling in their confines. Nathaniel Gray stood behind them, a makeshift bandage around his head. 

 

“Jem!” Jessamine shrieked. “Nate’s a liar. He was helping Mortmain all this time -” 

 

“Silence her,” said Nate shortly, and glanced Jem over. Anger stirred in his chest. 

 

“What did Mortmain give you for this,” he said, as if wondering to himself. “What did he give you to betray your sister? Thirty pieces of silver?” 

 

Nate’s face twisted, and Jem felt as if he could see beneath it, to something malignant and repulsive. “That  _ thing _ ,” he said, “is not my sister.” 

 

“It is hard to believe that you share any blood,” he said, and it was easy to show his disgust on his face. “She is so much finer than you will ever be.” 

 

He was half-hoping to bait Nathaniel into fighting him, but it didn’t work - Nate only huffed out a breath. “It’s not my concern. She belongs to Mortmain.” 

 

“I don’t know what Mortmain’s promised you,” said Jem. “But if you harm Sophie or Jessamine, I will kill you.” 

 

Nate gave him a glance - apparently Jem’s tone had surprised him. Still, he shrugged. “Kill him,” he said, and the automatons not restraining Sophie and Jessamine sprang forward. 

 

Jem had spent hours upon hours in the training room, learning to use the sword-cane as easily as breathing. It was thanks to those hours that, despite the heaviness in his limbs, he had the blade out and up into the chest of one attacker in instants. The creature spun away, spitting sparks that made Nate jump back with a cry of startled pain. 

 

Jem took his chance and struck Nate with the flat of the blade, hard, in the back. It knocked Nate to his knees, and he looked around desperately for his protector, but it was smoking and stumbling, clearly incapacitated. Mela hissed, furious, trying to strike out at Faela. 

 

“Drop them,” Nate gasped at the others, “Kill the Nephilim, kill him!” 

 

Jem whirled, sword at the ready. The automatons were moving with horrible speed, but he was faster. One’s head sheared off with a screech of metal on metal, sending more sparks flying, burning tiny holes in Jem’s sleeves. The other, untouched, still approached, and he felt a moment of fear as he brought the blade up to meet it. 

 

Then someone yelled. A familiar voice, and he sighed in some relief as Henry, holding a broadsword, ran up from the gate and slashed through the automaton’s raised arm. Aisling, at his side, snatched at its shoulder’s socket, trying to pull any gears or wires from it. Jem stabbed it in the throat, as Charlotte, appearing behind it, took its legs out from under it with one well-timed kick. 

 

In another few moments, the creature was scrap metal, and bits of burning clockwork were scattered across the courtyard like fallen stars. Jessamine was helping Sophie to her feet, and Jem thought suddenly that it might have been the first time Jessie had ever looked happy to see him. 

 

“He’s gone,” she said. “Nathaniel. He vanished with one of them.” 

 

“I don’t understand,” said Charlotte, and Jem looked up at the candlelit windows of the Institute as Jessamine explained. He sheathed the sword-cane, and had already started back through the doors when Charlotte addressed him. 

 

“Jem, what about Will? And Tessa? Where are they?” 

 

Jessamine frowned. “Tessa’s in the Sanctuary. I didn’t know Will was here.” 

 

“Will’s inside,” said Jem, with quiet, heartfelt certainty. He looked up once again at the flickering of the windows, some unnamed emotion stirring in his chest. “He would have gone after Tessa.” 

 

* * *

 

Will had stumbled across two more of the clockwork creatures on the staircase, past Thomas’ body. They were fast, and strong, and he’d had a few moments of icy fear - he was outmatched. But they had begun malfunctioning, and that had given him the edge he’d needed, if only for a few seconds. 

 

He didn’t have time to worry about his own mortality. Now, he scrawled the fastest Open rune of his life on the Sanctuary door, stumbling inside. 

 

It was dim, lit only by a few witchlights. But not so dim that he couldn’t see the scene in front of him. 

 

Tessa lay crumpled at the base of the fountain. Its water ran red, and the front of her dress was soaked in it. Next to her lay a bloodied knife, and Mortmain was kneeling by her side, shaking her. When he saw Will, he jumped back, staggering to his feet. His hands, as well, were soaked in her blood. 

 

“I -” he began. 

 

“You killed her,” said Will. His voice sounded far away, but he couldn’t focus on it. Issalinde was crying, looking for Chalivan. Will couldn’t see Chalivan. There was so much blood. 

 

There was so much blood. 

 

“No,” said Mortmain, drawing him out of his own echoing thoughts. “She did this to herself.”

 

“You lie.” He pulled a seraph blade from his belt, seeing Tessa laughing, Tessa’s expression when he’d teased her about the Codex in the library, Tessa shouting at Gabriel Lightwood in the corridor. Tessa’s face in the darkness, right before she’d kissed him. “Do you know what happens when one of these pierces a human’s flesh?” He didn’t wait for an answer. “It will burn you from the inside out, killing you slowly until you lose your mind. I’ve seen it happen.” 

 

“You think you grieve her loss, William Herondale?” Mortmain spat the words. “Years. Decades of work, of dreams, more than you could ever imagine - you know nothing of my grief.” 

 

“Then be comforted,” said Will. “It will be of short duration.” He lunged forward, the blade in his hand - 

 

And Mortmain was gone. Gone as easily as a warlock would have vanished, without a trace. It wasn’t unheard of for a human to master magic like that, but it would take a lifetime to reach that level of skill. 

 

But it didn’t matter now. He ran to Tessa’s side, slipping on the blood and water. Issalinde whimpered, nosing at the pool of red, as Will pulled her body towards him, numb with pain. 

 

Then two things happened at once. Chalivan appeared again, right where Issalinde had been staring, and Tessa opened her eyes. They were hazy, unfocused, but open - and Chalivan was breathing, for all that his eyes were dangerously glazed, much like Mela’s were when Jem was particularly bad off. 

 

“Will,” she said, weakly. 

 

Will’s heart contracted. He pulled her to his chest, the wave of relief almost too much to bear, and buried his face in her hair, which was already starting to stiffen with blood. “Tessa -” But the moment he spoke, the relief was replaced with boiling terror. To have Thomas die in his arms, and now this? Tessa wasn’t Nephilim, she couldn’t be healed with runes, and she’d lost too much blood, surely she didn’t have long left. How were Downworlders healed? Would the Silent Brothers know? 

 

“Bandages,” he said, frantically. “I need to get bandages.” 

 

Tessa pulled at his arm. “Will, be careful. Mortmain’s here -” she hissed with pain. “Mortmain’s the Magister, not De Quincey -” 

 

Issalinde had curled herself around Chalivan’s limp form. Will felt like he was choking. “Don’t talk. Mortmain’s gone, I need to get help -” 

 

She sighed. “No. You don’t need to. I mean, you do need to -” another grimace of pain - “but. It’s not my blood, not all of it. It’s only a little.” 

 

She was delirious, he thought. But her grip on his arm was far too strong for someone who should be dead. “What -” 

 

“I did it,” Tessa said. “I tricked him. He said it himself, sleight of hand - no one expects it.” She coughed, pressing a hand to her chest, where a deep gash still pulsed blood. Will flinched. “So I let him see. I let him see me do it. But then, I Changed, I was Emma. I stabbed her. I tricked the Magister, Will.” She looked up at him with a smile. 

 

Will pressed his face back into her hair. He was shaking, he realized, shaking even as he tried to keep her still, keep her from any more pain.

 

“It’s all right,” she said, and he held her closer before repeating it back to her. 

 

“It’s all right.” The words were there. He could say them, he could tell her everything.  _ I was afraid you were dead. I was afraid you were dead, and I would never have told you that I think you’re beautiful, that you make me laugh, that I wanted to kiss you. I should have listened to Jem. We should have told you. I love you, I love you, I - _

 

Then, she looked up into his face, the same little smile on her lips, her eyes full of something terrifying, something he’d done his utmost never to see again. Something familiar, but unforgivable. His blood ran cold, and he moved away from her in one abrupt motion. 

 

She was looking at him like she loved him, too. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Another shorter chapter, since I didn't want to start the very end and then have to cut it off. The last one's the last chapter, though I'm going to do the next two books, and probably go back and add illustrations/reformat some of this before that. 
> 
> Thank you all for reading this far, though!


	19. The True Realities, Eidolons

Nephilim mourned in white. 

 

Tessa hadn’t read about that, hadn’t had the chance to know, so it had startled her to see them leave, all in white like a wedding party. She had stayed at the Institute with Sophie - despite everything, Nephilim funerals were forbidden to Downworlders. 

 

Agatha and Thomas shouldn’t have even had one, but there had already been casualties in the raid on De Quincey’s hideout - De Quincey among them - and an exception could be made for those who had died in service to the Clave, so they were buried with the dead Nephilim in the Silent City. Sophie had told Tessa that she wouldn’t have wanted to go, anyway - she’d want to remember them as they were. 

 

Tessa thought it very brave of her. She herself had been confined to bed for nearly two days as she healed, to her irritation, and hadn’t been able to talk to anyone for very long. Charlotte was busy dealing with the fury of the Clave for letting Mortmain slip through their fingers, Jem and Will and Jessamine had traveled to the Silent City for the funerals and would return later that day, and Henry, as usual, had concealed himself away somewhere, tinkering with machines. 

 

Even once she was strong enough, she’d been whisked off into the library to be questioned by a man the other Nephilim called the Inquisitor. He made her repeat everything Mortmain had said and done, over and over, alert for any changes in her story. Did she know who the watch had belonged to? What the initials, J. T. S., stood for?  

 

No. She didn’t. She didn’t know anything, and the shame of having brought Nate and Mortmain down on them crawled under her skin. It was after that ordeal was over, and her audience had left, that she found herself curled up under one of the windows in the library, reading in the afternoon light. Not the Codex, but a Tale of Two Cities - something to take her mind away from it all. Chali, sensing that she needed something to hold, was cuddled up to her as a fluffy dog. 

 

She only looked up when the afternoon light had turned to evening, and Charlotte entered the room, looking wan. The funerals, it seemed, were over. 

 

“I thought I’d find you in here,” she said, taking a seat next to her. 

 

“Was it…” 

 

“Awful,” said Charlotte bluntly, but she bit her lip as if she regretted it. “Sacrifice is part of this life, but it doesn’t get easier.” 

 

Tessa didn’t have a reply to that. She set her book aside and merely rested in the silence for a moment. 

 

“Tessa,” said Charlotte, after a moment. 

 

“I know,” she said, heart sinking. “I know what you’re going to say. It’s all right.” 

 

Charlotte blinked at her. “You do? It is?” 

 

“You want me to go,” she said. “I know you met with the Clave before the funeral. I can’t imagine they’d let me stay, after all the trouble I’ve brought down on you. Nate. And Thomas and Agatha-” 

 

“The Clave,” said Charlotte, with a tone of bitterness, “does not care about Thomas and Agatha.” 

 

“Mortmain, then-” 

 

“Tessa, I believe you have entirely the wrong idea. I didn’t come here to ask you to leave, I came here to ask you to stay.” 

 

Tessa froze, staring at her. Surely Charlotte had not said what she thought she’d just said. “But - aren’t they angry?” 

 

“They are,” said Charlotte, and Raimond’s ears drooped. “With Henry and me, for allowing ourselves to be taken in by Mortmain’s tricks.” 

 

“That’s not fair-” she started, but Charlotte was still talking. 

 

“They’re going to convene and discuss whether or not Henry and I will be allowed to keep the Institute.” 

 

Tessa opened her mouth, then closed it again. She hadn’t even considered that. “But…” 

 

A sigh. “Tessa, I want you to stay, for selfish reasons. I hope you could make a home here, and I hope you’ve grown to enjoy our company. But I would feel I was deceiving you if I didn’t tell you that part of the reason I am still here is because of my affiliations with Magnus Bane and Camille Belcourt, my willingness to maintain relationships with Downworlders. In the Clave’s eyes, you choosing to stay here is a great asset.” She looked wretched, Tessa thought, as if this information was going to drive her away. “Please, do believe that I want you to have a home here, that I would fight to let you have a home here even if it did not benefit me.” 

 

Tessa just shook her head, fighting the oddest urge to smile. “Charlotte. You’re wonderful at running this place. As if I would choose not to stay just because it might  _ help  _ you, the horror! It seems that my staying here would help us both.”

 

Her thoughts spun away from her, thinking of all that she had expected to leave behind. Will, and the way he had looked at her in the Sanctuary. Jem, and his gentle, beautiful smile. Henry’s easy laugh, Jessamine’s flashes of bravery, Sophie’s quiet strength. 

 

“Charlotte,” she said again. “I would love to stay.” 

 

* * *

 

The stairs to the attic, and then to the roof, flew by under Tessa’s feet. She felt light, lighter than ever, and even the healing wound on her chest didn’t slow her down. 

 

Will was where Charlotte had said he’d be - on the roof, bathed in sunset light. There was a wrought-iron railing around its edges, and he stood on the bottom of it, clinging to the tops of the posts with his hands, staring out at the city. Issalinde, tail lashing to keep balanced, stood beside him on the thin edge.

 

“Will,” she said, unable to keep the grin from her face. She hurried to stand beside him, but he didn’t look at her, only stared out at the black silhouettes of buildings against the red light. 

 

“I remember,” he said, without turning, “that poem I was thinking of in Highgate. It was Blake. ‘And I beheld London, a Human awful wonder of God.’” His voice was detached. “Milton thought Hell was a city. Maybe he was half-right, and London is just Hell’s entrance. We’re all lost, damned souls, too afraid to pass through in case the other side is even worse.” 

 

“Will,” she said. He was in one of his moods, but she had never seen it so bad. “Will, what’s wrong?” 

 

His fingers whitened on the railing. They were covered in scratches and bruises, like he’d been in a fistfight, and he’d done nothing to heal any of it. Jem would often heal him, she knew, but it seemed Will had been avoiding everyone for some time. 

 

“I should have known it was a trick,” he said, finally. “When Mortmain came here. I was a fool.” 

 

“Charlotte thinks it’s her fault. You think it’s your fault. I think it’s  _ my  _ fault,” said Tessa, somewhat impatiently. “We can’t  _ all  _ have the luxury of blaming ourselves.” 

 

This made Will look up, and Issalinde jumped from the railing back onto the roof at their feet. “What, because Mortmain’s obsessed with you? That’s hardly your problem.” 

 

“Because of Nathaniel,” said Tessa, but this was souring her own joy, and she quickly changed the subject. “I came up here because I have good news, Will.”

 

“Tell me.” His voice was emotionless. 

 

“Charlotte talked to the Clave. She says I can stay here, at the Institute.” When Will said nothing, she went on in some confusion. “I won’t need to leave.” 

 

“Charlotte would never have made you leave, Tess.” He slid his feet from the bottom of the railing, landing gently beside her. “She couldn’t bear to abandon a fly stuck in a spiderweb. She wouldn’t abandon you.” 

 

“I thought,” said Tessa, after another uncomfortable silence, in which Chali became a dark-winged crow, “that you would be at least a little happy to hear it. That we were becoming friends.” Her elation was fading. “I thought… perhaps. I admire you, Will. I thought, after what happened... maybe you…” 

 

He turned to look at her, then, and there was so much pain in his eyes that she had to fight the urge to step back. “Come here,” he said, a little sad. 

 

So she did. She stepped into his arms, and looked up at him, and he almost smiled. 

 

He kissed her first, this time. He kissed her, and her heart leapt even as she thought that something was wrong that hadn’t been wrong before. But it was easy to ignore.

 

She wanted to stay on the roof forever, kiss him until she physically couldn’t anymore, and then she wanted to find out the reason for the sadness under his expression and make it disappear, and then she wanted to go and talk to Jem about this and perhaps kiss him as well. But mostly, she wanted to stay here, with Will on the roof of the Institute, kissing him until she couldn’t breathe. 

 

He broke away after another moment, and she forced herself not to chase after him. The contentment was back. She would be able to stay. She would be able to  _ stay _ . 

 

“So,” said Will, after a long pause, during which he seemed to be catching his breath. “Perhaps we should discuss our arrangements, then.” 

 

“Arrangements?” Tessa blinked. 

 

“If you’re going to be staying,” he said, “it would be to your benefit to be discreet. It might be better, perhaps, to use your room.” 

 

“Use my room?” A suspicion was beginning to grow in her mind. 

 

“You can’t be completely ignorant of the ways of the world, Tess,” he said, dismissive. “Not with that brother of yours.” 

 

“Will.” She felt cold. “I am not like my brother.” 

 

“You care for me,” said Will, his voice cool and certain. “And you know I desire you. Now you have come to make yourself available to me, to tell me you will be here for as long as I might wish it. It seems I’m offering you what you wanted.” 

 

“You cannot mean that -” 

 

“And you cannot imagine I mean anything more.” Issalinde’s face was turned away. “There is no future for a Nephilim who dallies with warlocks. What did you really expect, Tessa?” 

 

Chali was a mouse, now. Small and hurt-looking, hiding himself in her sleeve. Her voice threatened to shake, but she kept it steady. “I did not expect you to insult me.” 

 

“It can’t be any unwanted consequences that concern you,” he said, as if she hadn’t spoken. “Warlocks are all sterile.” 

 

She blinked. “What?” 

 

“You didn’t know?” He shrugged. “If you’re not interested in my offer…” 

 

“Stop it,” she said. “Just… stop.” The moment felt like broken glass - sharp and painful and clear. “Jem says you lie to make yourself look worse than you are. And maybe that’s true. But there’s no reason or excuse for cruelty like this.” 

 

For a moment, he looked actually unnerved. Then he shrugged. “Then there’s nothing else to say, is there?” 

 

Without a reply, Tessa turned on her heel and walked away from him. 

 

* * *

 

_ Lilith’s Children, also known by the name warlocks, are, in the manner of mules and other cross-breeds, sterile. No exceptions to this rule have been noted.  _

 

Tessa sighed and closed the Codex. She’d missed that, the first time, in her shock over being told she was potentially immortal. It wasn’t that she particularly wanted children - she didn’t. But the book’s phrasing set her teeth on edge. 

 

She’d taken refuge in the music room, not wanting to risk being found by Charlotte again and needing to explain anything. But it seemed even that wasn’t to be, as she heard a rustling noise nearby and closed the book, Chali squeaking slightly. 

 

A pair of yellowy eyes glanced at her from under a table, and Tessa laughed. It was Jem’s cat. 

 

“Here, kitty,” she said, but it merely looked at her in disdain. She half-smiled, and that was when the door opened and Jem slipped into the room. He was just a silhouette in the light streaming in, for a moment. 

 

“Tessa? Tessa, is that you?” 

 

It was so much like what he had first said to her.  _ Will? Will, is that you? _

 

Don’t think about Will, Tessa. 

 

“Yes,” she said, resignedly. “It’s me. Your cat seems to have gotten in here.” 

 

“Can’t say I’m surprised.” Mela, at Jem’s heels, chittered to the cat, who just looked at her with a similar expression of mistrust before beginning to wash a paw. “He seems to demand to be introduced to everyone -” he broke off upon catching sight of her face. “What’s wrong?” 

 

“Why would you ask that?” Tessa asked, to stall for time. She hadn’t been crying, but apparently her expression gave her away nonetheless. 

 

Jem just sat down on the piano stool opposite her. “Charlotte told me the good news,” he said. “Or, I thought it was. Are you not pleased?” 

 

“Of course I’m pleased.” 

 

Jem looked unconvinced, but only made a noncommittal noise. The cat sauntered over to him, batting at his right boot. “Good cat, Church.” 

 

“Its name is  _ Church _ ?” 

 

He smiled. “Henry was saying something about how it’s good luck to have a cat in a church. So we started calling him the church cat, and that became Church. He seems to like it.” As if on cue, Church rolled over onto his back, feet in the air. Mela head-butted one of his paws, making him meow in an affronted tone. Jem just laughed. “Why are you in the music room, alone?” 

 

“I feel alone,” said Tessa. It was a very stupid, self-pitying thing to say, she knew. “I don’t belong here.” 

 

Jem looked at her, patient as ever, until she sighed. “I know. Everyone here is alone. But… you’re all like a family, and I don’t understand any of you.” 

 

“You could be a part of our own little family,” said Jem. He looked as if, once again, he wanted to say something important. Tessa wasn’t sure she could hear it without crying, and admitting to Jem that she had kissed Will and telling him what Will had said. Perhaps she should. Perhaps Jem would be angry with her about it, then, and she would have more reason to feel alone and forsaken and wallow in self-pity in a music room. 

 

But no. She didn’t want to sit around feeling sorry for herself. “What’s that?” She asked, pointing to Jem’s green pendant that she’d noticed so long ago. 

 

He picked it up, on the chain around his neck. It was jade, in the shape of a closed hand. “When I’d just come to the Institute, when I was eleven,” he said, “I only saw how London wasn’t like Shanghai. I was homesick. So Will went down to a shop in the East End and bought it for me.” He looked at it with some indecipherable expression. “I think he liked it because it reminded him of a fist. But it was jade, and he knew jade came from China, so he brought it back for me to make me feel better. I’ve worn it ever since.” 

 

The mention of Will made Tessa’s heart contract. Jem saw her face shift, and frowned. “That look, it’s about Will, isn’t it? What happened?” 

 

She hesitated. Held her breath. 

 

“I kissed him,” she said, unable to meet his eyes. 

 

“Did you?” his voice was mild, and almost… hopeful? Tessa was surely imagining that. 

 

“Aren’t you angry?” 

 

A melodic laugh. “Of course not. You have him quite enamored.” Jem flushed, a little. “And… perhaps myself, as well. Does that offend you?” 

 

He looked… nervous, almost. Nothing like the anger she’d expected. And though her heart was warmed, a little, she still felt pained. What if she spoke to Jem, told him that she admired him, and he only wanted what Will did? What if this was all some joke of theirs at her expense? She couldn’t imagine Jem doing such a thing, but she was still wary. 

 

“He’s anything but enamored,” she said. “He… he made it very clear that my staying here was not the happy event I thought it was. I suppose it is good to know that he can be kind sometimes, if only to you.” 

 

“No wonder you looked as if I’d told you something awful had happened,” said Jem, quietly. 

 

“I’m sorry.” 

 

“No, don’t be. It’s Will who should be sorry, and who needs to learn to stop pushing people away.” He took her hand. “We will throw him out into the streets,” he proclaimed. “He’ll be gone by morning.” 

 

Tessa laughed a little, despite herself. “You can’t mean that.” 

 

“No, I don’t. But it made you feel better, didn’t it?” 

 

“It was like a wonderful dream.” 

 

Before Jem could reply, and before she could say anything about whether she was offended by Jem’s affections or not, there was a tapping at the window. Tessa startled, getting to her feet. Chali followed, coaxed back into his regular form by Mela as they’d talked. 

 

She opened the window, and outside, a familiar form was hovering, its chain dangling below it. With a smile, Tessa reached out and pulled it inside, slipping the necklace over her head and nestling it over her chest where it belonged. 

 

“What is it?” asked Jem, and Tessa smiled. 

 

“My angel.” 

* * *

 

 

Magnus Bane was nodding off, staring out Camille’s rain-streaked townhouse windows at the square below. 

 

Camille wasn’t home tonight, and would not be for many days more, he expected. She’d fled after the mess with De Quincey, and though he’d sent her a message saying it was safe to return, he wasn’t sure she would. 

 

(Some dark voice inside him suggested that he had always been a tool of hers, something to throw in De Quincey’s face.) 

 

“Don’t think like that,” said Casimir, who had curled up next to his chair. His scales were glittering by the lantern light, and Magnus just nodded. 

 

He could always leave, he supposed. Leave this borrowed luxury, make his own money. He alternated between being wealthy and being poor as he accumulated riches and lost them over the decades. But if he wanted to be here when Camille returned, here he would have to stay. 

 

There was a knock at the door. Archer, Camille’s washed-out subjugate. He looked at Magnus with distant dislike. 

 

“You have a visitor, sir,” he said, lingering over the “sir” just long enough to be insulting. “Nephilim.” 

 

“Nephilim?” Magnus sighed. He’d been at their beck and call for days. Questioning people for the Clave, using magic to ensure they didn’t lie. It wasn’t savory work, but they paid well, and they weren’t the sort of people one said no to. “All right, show them in.” 

 

“He’s in the parlor.” Archer’s lip curled. “Says it’s urgent. And he’s dripping rainwater on the carpet.” 

 

He. It wasn’t Charlotte Branwell, then, who was the only high-ranking Nephilim Magnus had any interest in talking to. “Yes, Archer. I’ll meet him there, then.” With a heavy sigh, he got to his feet, making a leisurely way down the corridor to the parlor. 

 

He wasn’t sure who he’d expected to see. The Inquisitor, perhaps. Instead, William Herondale stood in front of the fireplace, his clothes drenched. His daemon was hunched over, trying to warm up on the hearth. Water streamed off his hair and down his face like tears. 

 

“William,” said Magnus, honestly surprised. “What are you doing here? Did something happen at the Institute?” 

 

He shook his head. “No. No, I came here on my own. I need help.” 

 

“Don’t you all,” Magnus murmured. 

 

He didn’t even flinch. “There is absolutely no one else I can ask.” 

 

“Really.” Magnus looked at him, once more. Typically, beauty of any sort moved him, but Will didn’t look beautiful tonight. In fact, he looked pained. 

 

Almost despite himself, Magnus reached to close the door behind him, and gestured towards a chair. 

 

“All right,” he said. “Then tell me what the problem is.” 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And that's it! 
> 
> I've actually done it. Again, I'll make some slight formatting edits and maybe some illustrations, but I've finished it now, and that's huge. Comment if you like, it's been fun. 
> 
> I'm going to carry right on writing through the next two books, I think.


	20. Additional Notes on Daemons

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I did warn you there'd be illustrations. I doodled some (a little roughly, yikes) for the main three. More to come, and the first chapter of the next part is written, though I'm trying to get ahead so I can post the chapters quickly. 
> 
> Thank you all for sticking with this :)

 

 

 **Name:** Chalivan, from Hebrew  _Chalfan_ , meaning Change. Nicknamed Chali

 **Shape:** Unsettled, preferred form American Goldfinch

 **Belonging to:** Tessa Gray

 

 

 **Name:** Issalinde, Meaning unknown, no nickname

 **Shape:** Siamese Cat

 **Belonging to:** Will Herondale 

 

 

 **Name:** Kasimela, Meaning unknown, nicknamed Mela

 **Shape:** Red Panda, primarily silver and gray 

 **Belonging to** : Jem Carstairs

 

 


End file.
